


Hero's Reckoning

by Susannagwendoline



Series: Hell's Trinity [1]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Bisexuality, Demons Are Assholes, Developing Friendships, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends, Exorcisms, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angels, Heaven vs Hell, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Murder, Murder Mystery, Past Drug Use, Platonic Relationships, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susannagwendoline/pseuds/Susannagwendoline
Summary: She was trying to get away from her past. He was trying to protect her.Elia James is a twenty-eight-year-old woman with one hell of a dark past. After being murdered by someone she recognized but never knew, she is suddenly given a second chance at life; as her former self. A half angel. With her sarcastic attitude, but kind-heart on show, Elia tries her best to decipher her new powers and past; choosing to avoid the "other side" as much as she possibly can. But, in cliche fashion, her past is slowly catching up to her; causing everyone Elia knows to be thrust into danger. Including one of the most infuriating men, Elia has ever met.John Constantine was just a plain old guy trying to keep his best friend Chas and new tag-a-long Zed safe from his constant run-ins with the paranormal, and it never helped when all he seemed to do was run his mouth. Anarchistic, cynical and a down-right douchebag, he is the complete polar opposite to Elia. But, when their paths cross unexpectedly, it's up to this group of misfits to stop a powerful demon from tearing the world apart.That is if Elia and Constantine don't kill each other first.





	1. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

> The triggers are also tagged, but to remind you:  
> To those it may affect, "Hero's Reckoning" contains the following:  
> Referenced and heavily implied alcohol abuse and alcoholism.  
> Mentions of and heavily implied PTSD (Post-Traumatic-Stress Disorder).  
> Mentions of suicide.  
> Mentions of mental illness/illnesses.  
> Heavy violence.  
> If any of these affect you, you've been warned. If any appear, I'll try to remember to make a note of them in future chapters, as well.

The prologue will be posted tomorrow, at the latest. This isn't what this update here is for. As you may have seen (and read before I removed it) there is some...pretty heavy themes that go on through the entirety of this story. My 16-year-old self wasn't as mature as I am now. I can't just write about heavy shit without completely understanding it. That's one way to rub people wrong. 

But, now, I have a better understanding. I've suffered from depression and anxiety; I still do. I have the help I need. For a long, long time... I didn't. I often fought alone and believe me, that's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. That's where Elia first came from. I created her to have something there- someone to depersonalise my own issues with. Someone who could take a beating. Someone who understood true pain, but crawled back up to get on their feet. Elia was the character I would write as when I felt alone, defeated and vulnerable. When I was angry or anxious. She was the character I'd THROW my issues onto; because I knew she could take it. I came to love her as a character; but she needed her own world. However, that's entirely different. For now, she's here. It took three years to get her to fit in, three years for me to finally realise how great of a character she is (yes, I know I created her, but they usually develop on their own. It's weird, don't judge me).

So, I carried on creating her into how she is now; she's a lot more sensitive, more personal, more violent and more distrustful. Elia may have stemmed from a dark part of my life, but she's helped me get through it. Even if Elia was someone I created, I looked up to her. She was someone I wanted to be, wished to be; selfless, always giving to those who need it and a straight-up badass who learns to not care about what the world thinks about her. At first, she was created to represent revenge and redemption. But, as time went on, she developed and stemmed into representing selflessness, willpower and inner strength. Even when I was growing up as a younger writer (even younger than I am currently), I was never one for weak characters. I hated it when the female characters were portrayed as nothing more than damsels in distress; it's why I despised Mary Jane Watson in the Spiderman movies when I was, like, ten. I preferred characters who were strong enough to save themselves, but weak enough to be saved. Like Elia, for example, she can handle herself in battle and annoy other situation, but her friends/love interests are the ones to save her from herself. I just prefer it. Elia didn't have anything to inspire her creation; other than my depression and issues. I created the hero I wanted to see; the hero I needed at the time.

I grew up with barely any characters who felt the way I did. Or went through some of the scenarios I did. Which is why I love John Constantine so much; he was the first character/hero/anti-hero I could fully relate too. And as the years went on, I realised my hobby of writing could be so much more. And, thus, my hobby turned into a wild passion that I do every day; writing isn't just a job for me, a task, it's a coping mechanism. And it helps a lot.

To round it all up, this story was never written to be full of sunshine and puppies. I wrote it to be sharp. Dark. Often painful. Of course, the story involves angels and demons, magic and spells. Those are some things people may not believe in. But the issues I drag with me are very real in our society. Hatred for those who are different, hatred for those who do not fit in. Mental illness. Loneliness. Trying to figure out who you are in a world that demands you be like everyone else. I write so that the people who read or listen along feel less alone in the world; I never want people to feel the way I did-sometimes still do. I want people to have someone, a character, to be able to relate to when they feel like they have no one who truly understands them and who they are. It's why I write.

It's why I'll **always** write.

If I can be that voice for those who often go unheard, then I will be. I see it as my duty, my passion, to make sure the people who choose to come with me on Elia's journey feel like they have a place they can feel safe; understood. It is my goal for people to feel they have someone they are like; be it gay, bi, paralysed, mentally ill. I try my best to include those characters who are often left out. I didn't do it to be PC; some of the characters that will appear later are beautiful and I love each and every one of them equally.

As mentioned, it contains magic and demons. Sure, they may not exist in the eyes of many, but the issues I bring with me happen in everyday life and I will continue to write for those who cannot speak for themselves. I'll continue to bring those issues to light so people have something, anything, to relate to. It will always be my goal in this life to make people feel less alone.

To those going through some heavy shit, (like the things mentioned in this story), I promise you: it gets better. And you are braver than you think. Take that from me.  
-Susanna xx


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel of Justice and a few of her friends join forces to protect the mortal plane when demons attack.   
> For Elia, it doesn't end the way she thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still editing Chapter 1, but hopefully should be done reasonably soon.

Silence.   
That was all that fell across the sands. A delicate breeze washed over the desolate land, leaves rustling off in the distance. After the mild wind died down, the deathly silence had once more fallen. It seemed to resound over the completely uninhabited, barren lands. Everything was vast. Empty. The land spread out, further than the eye could see; straight out past the faded blue horizon. It was just sandy ground that stretched for miles upon miles. Despite it being so quiet and ethereal, everything seemed to echo. Everything continued to clash together. And not just with the coarse, grainy sands contrasting sharply against the smooth blue of the clear sky. It was a serene land but bizarrely, the peace seemed to be disturbed. It was chaos and calm. Silence and sound. The breeze picked up again, caressing the sands tenderly as it went. Off in the distance, a faint sound whistled its way through the emptiness, carried along by the simplistic winds. A gentle, simple sound of leaves rustling once again. Considering it was an enormous and empty beach, the trees may have been miles off into the distance.

The wind had no master; it blew at its own pace and by its own accord. The sand was an intense brownish yellow. The hues of light brown, yellow and amber blurred into one singular mass of colour, the grains at the mercy of the wind. When directly under the harsh sunlight, the sand glowered a violent yellow; seeming to possess its own aura. The sea was a deep shade of cerulean and it glistened in the rays of warm light, catching it every time a new wave formed and made its way towards the shoreline. The waves themselves lapped at it hungrily, trying to devour the sands before the tide came to pull them back into the seamless blue of the sea. Even then, despite the constant motion of the water, the waves were as quiet as the land around it. It was as if the sea knew something that the rest of the land did not; like it knew of this place, greeted it like an old friend, knew what was about to come. What was about to happen. _It was like the sea knew the silence was absolutely necessary; like the waves that lapped upon the sand knew that the battle was almost upon them._ It was as if the sea knew the silence would turn into nothing but sound. The peace would turn into violence. What the land had now would not last; it was blissfully ignorant towards it. The solitude, the tranquillity...it would not last much longer. 

The waves still sloshed smoothly, as noiselessly as they could; it was almost like the waves were whispering their prayers, asking forgiveness for a sin they hadn't committed. They drew away in fear, but seemingly returned; tentative and inquisitive. It was like the mischievous waves wanted to know what was going to happen. The sea itself couldn't decide if it wanted to stay and watch everything unfold or retreat into the haven of the depths. _Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._ A murder of crows cawed and circled the sandy lands, their cries unruly and hoarse. They flew in wild circles. Lost. Disoriented. Something had disturbed their peace and they didn't know where was safe and where was not. The tranquillity of the landscape started to turn as a symphony of sound had begun to grow; swelling into an earsplitting crescendo. The sea had become more tempestuous, waves battering the shore, pummeling it in its panic; frothy and cruel. It was like an invisible storm had picked up, the colour changing from cerulean to a dark navy blue in a matter of seconds, darkening and twisting its calm beauty into something more malicious. The wind picked up, howling its tune as it blew, throwing the loose grains of sand into the air carelessly. Crows cawed again, the wind battering into them.   
But, just like that, it came to a halt. As soon as it started...it stopped.

*******

Everything was back to that docile silence. The peace had returned, the stormy clouds returning to their fluffy, pearl colour. Things were different, however. It felt...different. The silence was no longer peaceful; it seemed violent. Everything was filled with a coarse sense of doubt. The sea was quieter but still choppy, still washing heavily onto the beaten sand. The doubt that hung in the air was heavy, thick. It was just negative. Despite that...there was hope. Even in the face of what was to come; something terrible, the land had hope. A ragged, choked gasp broke the silence, sand spraying everywhere as a head popped up. An imprint of their body was left behind as the woman shifted in an attempt to push herself upwards. Coughing, the woman spat the sand out of her mouth before sitting back on her haunches, breathing heavily. Her hands splattered into the wet sand and she exhaled. She was striking; her beauty was somehow ethereal, celestial. Her hair was snow white and tumbled down her back, soaked by the sea's spray, clumps of wet sand clinging onto the strands for dear life. Her eyes opened slowly, scanning the strange place she'd found herself in, revealing the colour to be an arresting shade of forest green. They glittered with emotion. With every blink, a different feeling seemed to be displayed. Fear. Confusion. Fury. Even with that, behind those feelings, her eyes held one constant; _determination._

With a swift and simple push, the woman clambered to her feet. The loose grains of sand fell from her clothes and hands. Despite the mess, it was clear she wore a long-sleeved white shirt and matching pants. Her boots were as unusual as she was; they were gold and rose to the thigh, engraved with symbols that were enigmatic and intricate. The chest plate was solid gold, just like her boots; it was polished to the point of perfection, catching the pale rays of sunlight. An azure coloured gem was placed in the armour, fitting neatly amongst the metal; directly over her heart. Her slender hand reached up and she touched the odd, glowing gemstone. Her jaw set and she turned to face the empty, silent horizon before her. She let out a gentle sigh, bow-shaped lips parting slightly.  
" _Libertas omnibus._ " The words left her mouth in a husky whisper and the clear sky rumbled with uncalled for and ominous thunder. 

From behind her, the woman heard the sand shift as someone landed on it gently; a crunching noise being the first thing to greet her ears. The sound of wingbeats followed and the woman felt her own pair twitch. She rubbed the feathers, choosing to ignore whoever was behind her. Extending her majestic wings to stretch them, she felt the bones crack. It had been a long time since she opened them wide. They were huge but slender, stretching out a solid six feet. They were as white as the clouds in the blue sky above her, the clean feathers sleek and smooth. Her eyes flicked to the tips of the wings, the feathers drained to a slate-grey colour. A hiss of disapproval left her lips and she reached up to brush the discoloured feathers. She was no longer pure.   
"Elia!" A voice called. The voice was female, gentle and light. The woman, Elia, knew it almost instantly. She twisted round to face the figure jogging across the sand, the hem of her floaty transparent sleeves gripped in her hands. The woman who was coming up behind her was equally as celestial; it was clear they weren't of the world they'd landed on. Her wings were folded neatly behind her. Her dark skin shone in the warm light, her long chocolate-brown hair tied in a neat braid, a shimmering golden thread tying it; lacing through the thick braid to keep it in place. Her skin was a beautiful shade of caramel, contrasting against her glittery gold eyes. Everything about her was _golden._ Her jewellery, her clothing. The bracelets were slim and decorated both her slender wrists, the metal jangling as she moved closer to Elia. She was dressed exquisitely. The jumpsuit was skin-tight and made out of smooth, silken material that was as golden as her eyes. It filled out further down, becoming puffed in the legs, before coming to rest at her ankles. A large, stiff-looking choker held her neck straight, but the other angel didn't seem to be bothered by how heavy it was. Her headband rested on her forehead, the clips hidden under her hair, the polished pearl catching the light as she lifted her head to meet eyes with the woman. It was Ariel. The Angel of Peace. 

Letting out a breath, Elia turned to face the horizon once again, hands clasping in front of her.  
"Ariel," her voice held no accent. It was just hoarse, contradicting against how softly she spoke the name, "what are you doing here?" Ariel stood next to her, the sleeve of her jumpsuit brushing against her arm. The peaceful angel stalled with her answer, her eyes filled with a strange sense of anguish.  
"I could not allow you to be alone in this." Ariel answered, voice cool. Musical. Ethereal. Her jaw set. "I warned you, Elia. I warned you and you did not listen. He does...not take well to rebellion." Elia chose not to look at her friend. Of course, she knew that, too. Elia ignored her orders. She had taken enough of them; none of them well-meaning. None of her tasks were given with good intentions. Elia was meant to be the Angel of Justice.   
"I saw what was coming. It was the right thing to do."  
"At what cost?" Ariel's voice was sharp, tone filled with a bitterness Elia didn't know she possessed. "You lost your place in Heaven because of your blind belief in this New World. You do know you are one of the Fallen now, yes?" The idea of being a Fallen angel hit her hard. But Elia knew what she was doing; Elia needed to do this. Right her wrongs. Save this new little world. Elia had faith in it, even if the other angels didn't. 

Another two figures joined them; a woman and a man. Elia recognized them immediately. The woman, Dina, was her partner and second-in-command; the feared Angel of War. And Michael. Dina's tan skin seemed to shine in the sunlight, her eyes round and a dark, fiery shade of auburn; much like her hair, which was vivid in colour. The archangel Michael just looked annoyed, his pale blonde hair styled with nothing but perfection in mind. He wasn't the type to aid Elia when she needed him; if anything, he loathed her. The feeling was mutual. There was something about him that Elia hated; he was pompous and arrogant. Only reason he was here was to shadow Ariel. She was a non-combatant; a healer. If threatened, she was capable of fighting back; however, she was simply a healer. Ariel was one for peace, being a pacifist most of the time. The others were the fighters, bar Michael. Dina and Elia were warrior angels. Gabriel-wherever he was- was a messenger, but had a way with a sword. Elia knew what she was. She was a Fallen angel, with a shattered halo and battered pride. But that didn't define her now. She was still the Angel of Justice, even if she was disgraced; and justice was why she was here.

*******

"This is dangerous, Elia." Gabriel had finally made himself known, flapping down from the blue sky above him. He landed gracefully, metal chinking as he straightened up. His armour was made out of solid steel, seemingly much larger than Elia's; and likely to be heavier. His black hair was long and held back in a loosely fastened bun that rested at the nape of his neck. His cape was a nice, clean white that was attached to his shoulders and fell past his ankles, resting neatly on the sand behind him. His armour wasn't as decorated as Elia's was; then again, hers mainly protected her heart. Her abdomen was left uncovered, the only protection was her flimsy white shirt. Elia didn't think a full chest plate was necessary. Elia was a valued warrior...maybe not anymore, now that she'd been kicked out of Heaven. Her set of armour was more for decoration than practicality. It never bothered her. This would be her last fight, either way. It truly didn't matter whether or not her armour was going to protect her. Elia knew how well she could fight. And this was a battle she had no intention of losing.  
"Dangerous or not, Gabriel, it needs to be done." Elia watched as Dina pulled a sword from her hilt, offering it to her with her head bowed. Her hair was plaited in a messy fashion. Dina was never one to make herself look beautiful; Elia knew her well enough to know she didn't care much about that factor. She was made for wars, just like Elia. The two women weren't designed to sit around playing those stupid little harps, to sit and do nothing. Elia and Dina loved each other dearly, worked together and were made to be _feared_.

Dina cleared her throat, dragging Elia from her thoughts and pushed the sword towards her, head still lowered.  
"Your sword, Commander. It must have slipped out of your hands when you... _fell._ " Elia took note of the way her voice cracked when she spoke; as if it physically pained her to bring up Elia's fall from grace. Elia could understand why. It was likely Dina would never see her lover again. God only knew where she was being sent. Maybe she'd join Lucifer. Maybe she'd have to live on the world she wanted to save as punishment. For now, it was empty. Not much life. It would be a lonely existence. _Hadn't she fallen far enough?_ Elia felt rage; wouldn't have been the first time she'd experienced anger. But this time, it felt harsher. More corrupting. Corrosive. She knew it was the darkness trying to claw its way inside her pure heart. Elia wasn't stupid; falling from grace meant changing into something different. At least...with the angels she had seen fall, they had become evil. They lost their grace and humanity. Elia was sure it wouldn't happen to her. She wouldn't let it. What she did, she did for this world. Standing by and allowing the unholy horde tear what He was creating apart wasn't fair, right. It wasn't _justice._ And as loyal as Elia was-wanted to be- she could not stand by and ignore it. She couldn't listen to the other angels telling her not to. To remain at her post. To stay true to the oath she swore. She couldn't listen to God Himself. It wasn't just her duty to follow orders. It was her duty to protect. And whether her brothers and sisters liked it or not, Elia would follow her heart. Not her orders. 

"Everything will be fine, Dina-" she took the sword from her outstretched hands, the light glinting on the sharp metal of the blade, "-I promise you, it will be fine." Dina swallowed thickly and stepped back, hands clasping. The sword was elegantly decorated. Its blade was made out of metal the colour of a raven's feathers; a shade of black so dark, it seemed to absorb the sunlight itself. The hilt was gold, a scarlet gem placed within it, away from her grip. This sword was a mighty weapon; one of her favourites. It was powerful and sharp, but it wasn't as useful. It was heavy and that weight could slow down her strikes. This wasn't just a simple mission thrown at her by the higher angels. This was a battle. A war. Elia hadn't used this magnificent sword in...centuries. How much time had passed since the last War? She didn't know. 

Letting out a sigh, Elia narrowed her eyes. If she was going to die today, she'd bow out with one hell of a fight. Ariel glanced at her.  
"Elia, think clearly. I understand why you did it." _Of course she did._ Her golden eyes were torn from Elia, directed straight ahead. She saw the pitch-black mass rising from the broken ground those mere miles away. It was time.   
"Elia, please. I know how strongly you feel about this world. How your love and faith in it guides you. But this seems too much." Her hand shifted to her long, floating sleeve. She pushed it aside, revealing a set of small, ornamental daggers held securely in a leather sheath strapped around her toned bicep. With her free hand, she pulled the daggers and shot Elia an apprehensive look. Her frustration got the better of her.  
"You are risking-" her hand tore through her tight, onyx coloured braid in frustration "-you will lose whatever you have left if you do this. What else are you willing to give up for these mortals? What more are you willing to give up to protect them?" Elia's fingers tightened around the rough hilt of her sword and she lifted it with steady hands, her grip sure.  
" _Everything._ "

*******

Bodies of the daemons littered the sand. An obsidian-coloured liquid had sunken, absorbed, into the helpless grains. The sand had not asked to be spattered in the blood of the enemy but it had been. The sun was still burning down on the landscape, making the liquid dry faster, burning it there, imprinting the sheen into its memory. It would be washed away by the sea once the tide came in, but for now...it would remain like a morbid picture for the world to see. The land was tranquil once again and it was in debt to Elia and her angel comrades; at least, the ones who were willing to fight alongside her. The ones who were willing to risk their status in Heaven to assist her. The Fallen One knew the other angels were watching what was going down on this plane with twisted fascination and grim intentions. They were simply waiting; Elia could feel it. Those winged morons were just _waiting_ for the angel to fall doing her duty. A duty that they refused to take part in out of fear of being ostracized; even then, it was a task that needed to be seen to, it was something they saw and refused to act on. Even if it meant losing her home and her family, Elia chose to do what was right. Justice had been served and balance had been returned. The world would heal over time and everything would be right. Like it was meant to be. When He finished moulding it, it would develop on its own. It would be a shame Elia may never get to see it; then again, she risked it all to save it from being destroyed. The gamble paid off in its favour, but not hers. However, she knew what could have happened; that was a risk she was willing to take.

Now it was all over...she didn't know what was going to happen. At least, to her. None of the bodies that lay upon the harsh sands belonged to her friends. Just the filthy daemons that had thought it was a good idea to try and poison this world; try and ruin it. The angels who held strong by her side were completely unharmed. She knew they would come out fine once the battle was won; she had faith in every single one of them. Even Ariel held herself well, usually teaming up with Michael to take on some daemons of her own. The Angel of Peace was capable of fighting well; she just preferred not to. Ariel was all about keeping the peace and having equality all around her. Elia understood why. Ariel seemed to flourish when things were quiet and serene. Elia thrived on balance and justice. Dina seemed to sway between gratuitous brutality and vengeance. Gabriel and Michael didn't seem to have a preference. Then again...Gabriel was much softer than Michael; something Elia welcomed. Michael had a devilish streak within him and Elia despised with it with every inch of her being. He was an archangel- he wasn't meant to be so _spiteful._   
He wasn't designed to be malevolent; he wasn't meant to be cruel to those around him. And yet, he was a complete and total-  
"Elia? I wish to speak with you. Privately." Gabriel's gently toned voice cut her thoughts off and she twisted round to face him. His black hair was unkempt, some thin strands sticking to his defined cheekbones. She tossed her sword from hand to hand, feeling its weight as she did so. A raven-coloured droplet dripped off the tip of the blade and she threw Gabriel viciously impish smirk. It didn't take long for his eyes to light up with his understanding.  
"Erase that idea from your mind this instant," his voice had sharpened and the order only made her grin, "Elia, I swear." Without hesitation, she whipped forward and wiped her blade clean on his pretty cape. He let out a yelp of displeasure and kicked her in the shin to force her back, causing her to stumble slightly. Elia chuckled, the sound musical and echoing across the vast lands.  
"That was...revolting." She only laughed again. He rolled his eyes with a huff, unamused by her antics. "I hate you."  
"We both know _that_ is a lie." The two angels shared a knowing look and he rested his large, smooth hand on the toned muscle of her shoulder. His grip was careful and he bent his head towards her slightly.  
"Yes, it is. But, enough with the games. Let us have that talk, mm?"

The two had wandered further down the sandy beach, but not too far away from where the rest of the group were resting. That would only make Michael suspicious. She couldn't be fussed with his arrogance. She had had enough violence for one day; as much as she loved fighting, proving her worth, she was exhausted. It had been a constant in her life for centuries. Elia was tired of fighting other angels over what was right, doing their dirty work, being reprimanded for following orders. The other Pure-Blood angels had made it obvious that they hated her. For no apparent reason, too. Maybe it was because of her faith in humanity. Maybe it was the emotion she could feel. Maybe it was the fact she was more...human? Either way, they despised her. Other than Ariel and Dina. They stood by her side and Elia loved them both for it; their loyalty and their friendship. No matter what the other angels said or did, she always had those two by her; and that meant everything. The wind was refreshing and cool and Elia closed her eyes, embracing the crisp air.  
"What is it you wished to speak about?" The two had been stood in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the calmer waves, feeling the warm rays of sunlight, the caress of the breeze against their skin.  
"Michael wants to execute you where you stand. For apparently being a traitor." Elia's forest green eyes flew open and she couldn't help but shoot him a sceptical look. She remained silent, completely dumbfounded by what she had heard. A traitor? How in God's name was she one of those? All she ever chose to do was save what was being created. Against orders, but that was harmless. It didn't make her a traitor. If anything, it just made her look foolish. She felt frustration course through her.   
"That is not-" her voice was louder than she had intended it to be and Gabriel waved his hand briskly to silence her mid-sentence.  
"I know. But he wishes to do what he wants." Elia could feel nothing but fury. Fright. It bubbled up within her chest and clutched at her heart.  
"That cannot be legal!" Elia hissed, voice returning to the quiet tone so that the others wouldn't overhear. "Heaven has laws!"  
"Whatever Michael says goes. You know this, Elia. No one would truly care if you lived or died today, considering your newfound status." _A fallen angel._

Gabriel was right. No one would bat an eyelid if Michael ran her through like she was like one of those daemons they'd slaughtered. And there was nothing she could do to prevent her fate. Nothing she could do to stop him. Today was the day her life came to an end. Her story was over. No more Angel of Justice. A sour snort escaped her. Not like it mattered. She would be replaced. At the sound, Gabriel glanced at her and chewed on his plump bottom lip in thought.  
"I can help you. I know this is not what you were destined for. Michael is just being rash, acting out of character. You were destined for much bigger, greater things. I have seen the Prophecy. I know what must be done to protect you. But...you will not like it." It truly didn't matter if she liked it or not. What other choice did she have? It was either die by Michael's hand or survive to live another day. Elia greeted his gaze with a resolute grimace.  
"Enlighten me with the idea you have in mind."

*******

Gabriel had explained his idea in as much detail as he could and as quickly, considering time was against him. And the messenger angel was right about one thing; Elia did not like what he had in mind. His plan was to send her into Dormancy; a place not many angels went. The last angel she had heard whispers about was Tarra. That had been a long time ago. Dormancy was a complicated place; thing. It was a state a soul would reside in until it was reborn into something new, be that body or whisked to be some sort of plant life. It would mean a new life, even if she wasn't aware of it. She would no longer be an angel; Elia had no idea what she would be. Who she would be. Where she would end up. And this state of Dormancy Gabriel had in mind would release her when the world would need her most. Just like the Prophecy foretold. It wasn't exactly the greatest idea and the two knew it. However...there was no other way out of this mess. It was either die or live; Elia had the choice. And she would much rather live, no matter what she had to give up to achieve that. 

Everything Elia ever did, she did for Heaven, God, her brothers and sisters. It was her duty to protect and to serve, to fight whatever came up and out of the depths of Hell. It was her duty to slay whatever had ill intentions, whatever threatened Heaven's peace. She followed any orders given to the letter. Defending this world meant risking everything she had, and then some. In the end, even when faced with the possibility of death, Elia knew it would all be worth it in time. Her faith was not blind. Her eagerness was not naivety. The angel knew whatever would walk upon this land, these mortal creatures, would be great; flawed, but not everything could be perfect. Elia had learned that the hard way. She was made to be the perfect soldier, one who took her orders with pride. And yet...Elia chose not to. For the longest time, Elia was just a simple weapon. Something that the higher angels could use, something that God could command. And Elia would comply with whatever was thrown at her. Because that's what she was _taught_ to do. But when He decided to make this strange new world, Elia couldn't help but feel...attached to it. Every passing day, Elia felt that attachment grow. She would watch in fascination. The plants that popped into existence, vividly detailed and colourful. The animals that were born. It taught Elia how her compassion was not a mistake. It was not a glitch. It did not make her flawed; imperfect. It made her _just like the land itself._ Elia could feel herself growing along with it, watching. Learning. It would most definitely be flawed, but Elia quite liked it that way. When it was threatened, Elia knew just what she had to do. _Protect it. No matter the cost._

*******

And with that knowledge, she chose the path. She led the angels who decided to join her fight against the forces that tried to plague a budding new world. A world that had just begun; needed to grow. Her armour shifted against her sweaty skin as she moved slightly, looking back at Gabriel. He was waiting patiently for her answer, hands clasped elegantly. She swallowed thickly.  
"Do you trust me?" The question was met with thoughtful silence. She smiled and rested her hands on his shoulders, the cape velvety to the touch.  
"I trust no one more." He smiled softly, lips twitching upwards. Her job was done. The world was safe. She led her small army like the leader she was. She led them to victory like she had planned to. Like _she swore to herself._ Elia bit her lip. She had to do this. There was no need to be afraid of this new unknown. What would come to pass could not be prevented, even if she didn't want a part in it. She would deal with it as it greeted her.  
"Will it hurt?" She asked, voice timid. Her question was valid and she wanted to test the waters. Gabriel shook his head, loose strands of his hair swishing with the motion. Elia relaxed, a breath escaping her. _At least it wouldn't hurt._ Filled with a strange sense of courage, Elia gave him a sly grin.   
"Get on with it, then." Gabriel shot her his famed secret smile and nodded once again. He pulled his sword free from his leather sheath and swung it round to deftly trace a symbol into the sand. It was arcane and a labyrinth of lines; a symbol Elia had never seen before. Then again...it had been a long time since the last, so her lack of understanding could be forgiven. He finished with a swish of his wrist and moved to put his sword away, gesturing with his free hand. He wanted her to move; to step inside the pattern. She did as he silently asked, taking a deep breath. 

This was it. Gabriel's hands glowed a deep shade of amber and he watched Michael start stalking towards them, Ariel stopping Dina from following. At the sight of her lady panicking, Elia felt a sour sense of regret bite at her. She didn't choose to say goodbye to the woman she loved. Gabriel's expression was grave as he returned his round eyes to her.  
"And we are out of time. He has realised. He has seen this before. Knows it well." Gabriel's fingers twitched, the magic surrounding his hands pulsing; glittering. The rage that settled on Michael's expression frightened the messenger. He would not be harmed by him, luckily, which gave Elia a sense of relief. Michael could not hurt Gabriel without someone speaking of it.  
"Are you ready for this, Commander?" Elia swallowed again, throat dry. But she nodded, determined. He bent down to touch the symbol, the magic leaving his hands, filling the lines. It reminded her of vines that wrapped their way over thick tree trunks. How the sea caressed the sand. It was beautiful. Magical. Elia smiled tenderly at her faithful friend.  
"Always." Gabriel stepped back to watch and Michael let out a snarl, bouncing off the shield Ariel hastily threw up, golden eyes alight with defiance. After everything Elia had asked of them, they still chose to protect her from Michael's seething wrath. Her heart swelled with pride, love, for them all. Apart from Michael. He could choke.  
"I will see you again." Gabriel clasped his hands and bowed his head in respect. "In another time." Elia exhaled and closed her eyes, tuning out Michael's fury. The magic flowed across her like water, oddly cool and comforting. It filled her with peace. Serenity. Something she had not felt in a long, long time. A smile graced her features once again.  
"Of course you will, Gabriel," she responded, eyes still closed. "In another life." She felt herself disappear, but Gabriel was right; yet again. It was completely painless. And her soul would not remain Dormant forever.

She would be reborn.  
She would begin again.  
She would **rise.**


	3. A Hero's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no recollection of her past life as an angel and being reduced to a human, Elia James gets a nasty wake up call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions/references:  
> Alcoholism and death  
> Just as a warning.

"You may not end up where you thought you were going, but you will always end up where you were meant to be."  
-Unknown

Traffic honked loudly somewhere on the roads down below, the sound of horns and tires muffled and blurred as the noise rose up into the chilly morning air. The morning had started to progress into the early afternoon, the sun climbing higher into the clear blue sky. People had begun leaving for their afternoon shifts at work, others started leaving to get ready for a day out with the children too young for nursery. Morning rush hour had been and gone, but the roads were still busy. The traffic would start to dwindle in about an hour or two. The disgruntled honking would fade into silence, or at least it would settle down from the crescendo it would probably rise to. Birds continued to chirp their cheerful little tunes on the power lines that were draped outside, the sound muted slightly, dulled by the smeared glass window. Despite the glass drowning most of the sound out, the birds were loud enough to not be completely silenced.

Pale rays of sunlight cascaded through the plain white blinds, a thin layer of dust coating the brittle plastic. They were still partially open, allowing the light that shone upon the grubby plastic into the dim bedroom. It was starting to be a reasonably sunny day, the sun climbing higher into the clear sky as it streamed through the blinds. The holes that littered the plastic caused the sunlight to cast dark, prophetic patterned shadows on the clean comforter that seemed to be bluer than the sky itself. The pitch-black patches danced and swayed to an invisible song; it only seemed to fade when a cloud crossed the sun's path and interrupted the parade. The duvet was crumpled up in places and the patchy sunlight shifted along with the dents and curves, adapting to its odd shape. Fishnet tights that were torn and frayed in multiple places were caught on the silver door handle of the bedroom door, as if they were yanked off and tossed lazily across the room, before snagging on the handle and coming to a stop. Loose-fitting shirts that still reeked of stale alcohol were lying around the room, mixed up with different styles and pairs of jeans. The items of clothing were carelessly piled up by a small, scratched oak wardrobe; the doors of the thing were flung wide open, revealing the stacks of clothing that had fallen out onto the carpet, lying in a crumpled heap, every item tangled up with another.

Bottles were littered around the reasonably large bedroom; everywhere. Small bottles, big bottles. Most of them were empty. Jack Daniels, an empty bottle of the strongest Russian vodka on the market, Smirnoff and an unopened bottle of fancy-looking gin. Alcohol was sprayed up the wallpaper by the closed door, shimmering as a lone ray of sunlight fell upon it. It had yet to dry into the already-ruined wallpaper. The wallpaper was white and had bright red roses decorating it, the colour standing out. However, those blood-red flowers had long since faded into a scruffy looking rouge. It had aged terribly and began peeling away in places. The paper was in desperate need of replacing or painting over; it looked tattered and worn out. Once upon a time, the walls were alive with colour, vibrant and rich. The paper was fresh, clean even. It had been put up with skilful hands and meticulous precision. It was well made, well placed. Smooth and perfect. The room had been decorated with nothing but love; from top to bottom, it was flawlessly set up. But, times had changed. People had moved on. And the room was left to falter and fall into disarray, the wallpaper left to rot; to deteriorate into what it looked like now. It was no longer vivid and pleasant. It was beaten and battered by the stains of alcohol and dried patches of blood. It had wilted and died, patchy and broken. Time could be a cruel mistress; whoever occupied the room no longer cared about its appearance. The beauty of it was allowed to fade away into nothing.

A low-toned snore broke through the peaceful silence of the room and the woman lying on the bed shifted ever so slightly, a wheezy breath leaving her lips. She was swaddled in the sky-blue duvet, looking more like a newborn child than a woman in her late-twenties. It didn't look like a very comfortable position, as the woman was practically hanging out of the single bed. Her legs were strewn over the plush mattress, her upper body hanging over the side, head disappearing towards the floor. Mere inches away from her head was a pool of vomit that was slowly seeping into the carpet; it looked fresh. _She was almost lying in her own filth_. Her golden blonde hair hung over her head as she resumed laying completely still; not moving a single inch. If someone chose to walk into the bedroom now, they would have thought of her as dead. With the amount of alcohol she had seemingly consumed, it was a surprise that she wasn't. Judging by the bottles that covered her bedroom floor, she'd drank more than what was recommended by doctors everywhere. Her hair was like a waterfall as it tumbled over her skull; floaty and greasy as it sat in softly curled ringlets, shielding her face from view. It was long enough to almost touch the floor; keyword being _almost_. That pool of sick was an inch away from ending up in her hair. If she even twitched again, a shower would end up on the list of things she'd need to do. _If she woke up from her alcohol-induced coma to do them, that was_.

With her slender right arm trapped underneath her torso, her left dangled over the edge of the bed; much like the rest of her body. She was as still as a calm lake, the only indication of movement being the strands of hair swishing softly in time with her breathing pattern. Her skin was pasty white. The birds continued to sing, but she was completely dead to the world. Her fingers gave an abrupt and violent twitch, the silence broken by a hoarse breath catching in her throat. A raspy whisper left her lips, eyes shifting quickly behind the lids.  
"Jeanné." It was a simple word; a name. But, the emotion in it was obvious, thick and potent. With a strangled gasp, her hand jerked once again, this time smacking into an open bottle of Jack. The bottle was sent careening across the carpet, sloshing its contents everywhere as it went. It didn't matter, really; it was just another stain that would be neglected. The carpet itself was as grimy as everything else. Vomit that had been there before and never properly cleaned away, bloodstains that had soaked in, spilt alcohol. The carpet was once an elegant and soft-looking cream. _Hell_ , it didn't even look like it was cream anymore. More like a grey? A decrepit beige? It was a shame. The bedroom could have looked as chic as it once did if the girl passed out in her untidy bed cared enough to clean up the pigsty she resided it.

*******

The dull thumping noise the bottle made as it tipped over caused the woman to stir ever so slightly, rolling further away from the mess she'd made. A throaty grumble left her lips, eyelashes brushing the pale skin of her cheeks as she scrunched her nose up, eyes squeezed shut. The noise was a sound of defeat as she lay on her back, her position even more awkward and uncomfortable. Sunlight greeted her as she finally forced her azure-coloured eyes open, the warm rays blinding her momentarily, causing her to squint. Moaning out incoherent curse words, she turned her head away from the light sharply, closing her eyes once again. The hammering behind them only worsened with the abrupt explosion of light that decided to slap her sleepy form in the face. _The angle of her body didn't exactly help her case, either_. Her headache only doubled in its intensity, causing her to let out a pained groan as she weakly threw her arm across her face. Now she'd started moving around and slowly waking up, the colour had begun to return to her skin; a gentle pinkish-white. However, it didn't remain for very long, the soft colour draining away from her face faster than a tide being pulled out on a bloody beach.  
"Ah, fuck me." She muttered under her breath, voice muffled by the crook of her elbow.

It didn't take a genius to work out she wouldn't be able to make it to the small, half-full bin that resided by her bedroom door. She heaved again, eyes watering furiously with the effort of holding it back. Throwing a slender hand out, her palm glowed a delicate shade of azure. Her fingers twitched.  
" _Veni ad me_." Her Irish accent was gentle, but the soreness of her throat made her voice come across gruffer. The bin hovered a few inches off the ground and floated towards her. She felt the coldness of the silver metal as it touched her palm. Automatically, her fingers closed around it and she yanked it right under her face; just in time, too. She immediately began to empty the contents of her stomach once again. _Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol. Oh, hey, that shitty slice of unbuttered toast from last night. Alcohol and more fucking alcohol_. Her eyes burned and watered fiercely, the tears stinging her cheeks as her throat screeched and throbbed in complaint. Hiccuping through her ragged breathing, Elia coughed and spluttered, waiting until the hell waned enough for her to get a glass of water. All it was was bile and booze and that was never a good combination; she of all people knew that much. A pang of guilt slapped her in the face as she dragged in a quivery breath, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She had promised herself she wouldn't get this smashed again; clearly, she had bullshitted her way through every damn bottle.

*******

An exhale carried over the now-silent bedroom, her bout of vicious vomiting seemingly over; at least, for now. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, her fingers clenching around the rim of the bin.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, look at the clip of you." Another sigh followed; one that sounded like it was filled with concern, but also exasperation. It reminded the drunkard of a strict father who'd managed to catch his supposedly "good-girl" daughter making out with the local troublemaker behind the church he volunteered at. It was full of disdain and tainted with worry.  
"Elia, luv...you need'ta quit drinking. You're gonna bloody kill yersel'." The tone of the voice had lightened ever so slightly but still held that urging concern. Elia James let out a hoarse and incoherent grumble, tilting her head slightly to get a better angle to listen. It sounded distorted; then again, the pounding that rocked her skull made everything sound like it was crackling and broken. Despite the cloudiness in her head and the voice being so disrupted, Elia could still hear each word spoken as clear as day. Elia didn't know who he was; she could decipher the person was male, at least. But, the Irish lass didn't know why he was in her bedroom. Or how he got in. Unless she had a one night stand and the prick decided to stick around instead of fucking off home. Maybe he thought it would be a brilliant idea to stay longer to make some shitty attempt at a breakfast she knew she wouldn't damn well eat. _Did she go out last night?_ Her memory was just blacked out; it would come to her in fragmented flashes later, but for now...nothing. Elia couldn't remember. Maybe? She bloody well hoped not. Even if she chose to go out, one night stands were meant to stay that way. They were meant to be a quick night of (almost always) drunken fun and the individual would sneak out and piss off in the early hours of the morning. They weren't meant to turn into bloody sleepovers that dragged into early lunchtime; or worse. Elia had no time for relationships. And that applied to all the men and women she'd done the deed with. One night stands were fun. Relationships were _not_.

"Elia, you alright?" The man spoke again. It took her a full second to realise she hadn't replied to him in any sort of way; she was still hunched over the bin, fingers aching as she gripped at it. He still sounded like a busted speaker. And Elia had heard many of those damn things in her lifetime. But, despite the fogginess in the voice and tone, she still heard every bloody word he said. Even when the words faded in and out, she could still hear him. Strangely, it reminded her of a kid who had the remote for the TV and was irritating everyone by messing with the volume control. It grated on her senses. Exhaling into the bin and clearing her throat, Elia felt her stomach heave once again with the odour that greeted her. She spat and finally lifted her head. The strands of her greasy blonde hair framed her oval face, knotty and untamed. Pushing the bin away from her, she couldn't help the fact her face scrunched up like she'd sucked on a lemon. It _stunk_. As she placed it back by the door, Elia once again regretted how much she managed to drink. Elia finally managed to turn her head and look at the man who was speaking to her. His figure was spectral; almost invisible to the naked eye. Of course, no one else would be able to see him. Not everyone was strange as Elia bloody James. She pouted, bow-shaped lips chapped and cracked.  
"Aw, not you again, you ghostly fuck."

Now she'd gotten a better look, recognition sparked her mind. Gary Lester. A literal dead man. He was sallow, leaning against the wilting wallpaper, arms folded over his skinny chest as he stared directly at Elia. His expression was unreadable, but Elia let herself off with not seeing his face properly; there wasn't much left of him to look at. It made it harder for her to pinpoint his emotions. His entire being was a faded and foggy blue; blurry and distorted. It made Elia's head pound in a way that was completely different from the hangover that was haunting her more than the spirit himself. He was just the leftovers of a man who was long dead. And, even then, he still looked bloody sickly. Even behind that bluish film his physical form had dissolved into, Elia could still practically see the ashen colour of his skin. Elia flicked her gaze over him, like she did every time he bloody decided to show up. He was wearing the clothing he must have died in; as most spirits did. The white shirt was grotty and pretty much hung off his scrawny frame, his dark denim jeans loose-fitting, torn and seemed to be absolutely filthy. A leather jacket was lazily tied around his waist, his dark eyes sunken and empty. Gary was the ghost that had been following her around for the last few weeks. It was a mystery as to why he was here, of all places. He was a bloody Brit, Elia could tell whenever he spoke; even if his voice was distorted, she could still just catch the thick Londoner lilt in his accent. It didn't any sense to the woman as to why he was in Galway of all places. How he got to Ireland and why he chose to follow her around like a lost fucking puppy, Elia didn't know. Either way, it was bloody creepy. 

Her powers were the cause of all this. It had nothing to do with him following her, Elia knew that for a fact. They just caused her to see things others couldn't. She could see _him_. Being a psychic medium wasn't all fun and games. Some spirits were a lot nicer than others. They could be even-tempered, confused but understanding. Accepting. Others...not so much. They could be furious balls of energy that would zip this way and that, breaking whatever was in their way. They could screech and demand to be returned to a body; to the land of the living. As magical as Elia was, that was out of her power. All she could do was listen to them rant about everything they'd left behind, the sins they'd committed, how life was cruel and so on. If a spirit wasn't throwing a tantrum at the fact they were dead, Elia would tactfully explain and help them. If they were kicking up a storm, however, Elia would not. Elia was outspoken with those who tested her patience and made sure she was sharper than shards of broken glass. And if they attacked her? Elia had no problem with sending them to Hell.

"I'm serious about the drinking, Elia. And you know it." Gary spoke again, tilting his head as he watched her. She chose to ignore him, eliciting an annoyed snort. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to care about his opinion. Instead, she resumed her train of thought. Death wasn't something people could ignore. It would end up greeting some poor bugger every day. Death was always lurking. Demons were worse than it, she couldn't lie. But, Elia had spent most of her life using her powers to send those spawns of Satan back to where they bloody belonged. She never did, though. After everything with Jeanné and Faith...they didn't deserve to go home and bust back out again; like they usually did. All of them _deserved_ to die. Elia knew what she was. She was a witch with a heart of gold to those who deserved it or needed a drop of kindness in their lives, but she held a violent thirst for revenge. The magic running through her veins gave her these fancy and _fucked up_ abilities. Elia had no choice in the matter when she was given them; she was born with the damned things. But...she did have a choice. She could use them for good, or for evil. And that was how she chose to roll. She chose to fight for what was right; the light side, so to speak. Elia never understood why. It always felt right to be a decent human being. Like it was made for her. 

Many of the lost souls who prowled around always knew that they could come to her for help. Elia was more than willing to at least give them the peace they were searching for; if they didn't throw a hissy fit like they were six, that was. Elia was the voice for those who were often left unheard. But, that's the thing with those bloody spirits. The ghosts of the past, the ghosts of those long-forgotten, would speak to anyone who had the power to listen. And, if even if she didn't want to, Elia would be the person who would _always_ listen. It was...in her blood. It was her duty to allow them the chances to tell their stories; atone for their sins in any way they could. It was her duty to give them the chances they may not have had the first time around. It was her bloody damned duty to send them to the place they could call _home_. Elia finally managed to distract herself enough to straighten up, ignoring the way the room spun as she did so. It was time to talk to her little "friend", it seemed. She couldn't ignore the bugger forever.

Fingers snapped directly in front of her face, faded and foggy blue. Elia jerked her head back automatically, the movement sharp and quick. As soon as the sudden movement of her head ceased, Elia couldn't help but flinch, nose scrunching up. Her headache only throbbed harder with its complaint and she glared at Gary as he returned to his position, leaning back against the wall. She clenched her jaw.  
"Was that necessary?" She asked, voice laced with irritation as she massaged her temples with her fingers. Gary pouted before giving her an almost mischievous smirk; one she could barely see.  
"You weren't listening to a damn word I was sayin'," he replied, mimicking her stance as he crossed his blurry arms over his skinny chest. She ignored the embarrassed blush that crawled up her neck. "I was explaining my previous point. You need to control your habit of getting rat-arsed every night." Elia rolled her eyes. As if he cared. He was just a ghost that followed her around. He didn't fucking care. _Did he?_ Either way, he wasn't exactly her friend. He didn't get to have an input in her life choices. Elia let out a bitter laugh, not even bothering to look him in the face.  
"Oh, really?" She scoffed, going on the defensive, her tone full of scorn. "You didn't exactly quit doing smack, you absolute spanner." The man let out a snort and Elia managed to catch the bewildered expression that crossed his face, albeit fleetingly. _Whoops. Perhaps that was a wee bit harsh_. Elia wasn't an idiot; she knew she'd hit a little too close to home with that one. Exhaling tiredly and allowing the regret to sink in, Elia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was no need for an apology. At least, Elia wasn't going to give him one. She may have been good at certain things, but apologizing wasn't among them.  
"Christ-what the fuck do you want, Gary?" The ghost snorted and remained quiet. He was playing her game back at her. Fair play, Elia deserved it.

*******

After a few more minutes of complete silence, Elia grew bored. It was no longer deserved at this point and it had begun to grind her gears. Gary wasn't even paying her attention; he'd started looking out of the window. Scoffing, Elia practically pirouetted and threw herself onto her bed, landing face-first. The springs of the old mattress creaked under her weight, her nose aching ever so slightly due to the impact. She shimmied further up, keeping her face buried in the material of the duvet. It was still clean and fresh, oddly, the scent of lavender still pleasant. It reminded her of happier times. She remembered the perfume Jeanné used to wear. Her adoptive mother would always have it on, whether it was her neck, wrists or just a simple spritz over her clothing. It was nothing but a small, inexpensive bottle from a local shop down the road. It had long since closed down, but Elia remembered it well. Jeanné never wore enough for it to be sickly; Jeanné was careful. She liked it but never used too much. And Elia remembered incredibly well that it smelled like lavender. She used to adore it. Elia could still visualise the times she was woken up in the middle of the night by her nightmares, her premonitions. Without fail, Jeanné would always hear her whimpering. Even when Elia tried her little heart out to muffle it, Jeanné would still manage to overhear it. The mothering witch would _always_ hear; mummy ears, she would say, a mysterious and affectionate twinkle in her sky-blue eyes. She would flick the pastel pink bedside lamp on, dressed in her favourite floor-length silken lilac dressing gown and would plonk Elia on her lap. She'd re-read Cinderella until Elia fell asleep against her shoulder. Elia would bury her young face into Jeanné's neck as she read out loud, voice serene and soothing. Even after a shower, the girl could smell that bloody perfume. Every time, Elia would fall asleep to her reading, the scent, the warmth Jeanné offered. The security she felt whenever Jeanné held her; like nothing could ever harm her. _Elia would forever miss that feeling_.

Elia felt the tears prick at her eyes and she cursed herself mentally, batting the memory of Jeanné out of her head. She had to. She batted away the serene sound of her voice, Irish accent curling around her words as she spoke. The feeling of her smooth lips pecking the crown of her head; a simple, motherly kiss goodnight. No. No. _No_. Elia couldn't remember any of it, not right now. She couldn't allow herself to think of the past or she'd be right back on it; Elia was more than ready to hit the bottle again. It didn't matter that it wasn't even lunchtime, Elia was willing to drown her sorrows. Even without memories, she wouldn't need a push into drinking. Her mind may have started it, the thoughts of Jeanné and her childhood, but Elia loved her alcohol. Joyous memories would lead her down a slippery slope that led her to remember how quickly things changed and she would reach for the nearest bottle. Memories were no longer heartwarming, consoling. If anything, they were nothing more than fucking _haunting_.  
"You okay down there?" Gary questioned, his attention seemingly retrieved. Elia lifted her head and proceeded to roll onto her back, staring at the yellowing paint of ceiling. Her eyes stung and she exhaled.  
"Aye." She answered, voice quiet. Gary made a noise of acknowledgement and Elia flicked her gaze back to him. 

It was nice to have someone to talk to, Elia couldn't fully deny it. She wouldn't tell him that, though. Gary was a cocky prick. Elia had a feeling the bugger would gloat about it for days. But, it was still nice to have someone there. Usually, when she was coherent enough and awaiting her pesky hangover to leave, she would often talk to this lost soul. He didn't reveal much about himself or his past. All he'd told her was his name, his hometown and how he died. Was into some pretty hard drugs; heroin, particularly. Ended up going too far with it, spiralled out of control. And, finally, he snuffed it. Elia didn't believe him, though. There was something off about his death; how he became a ghost. She could sense it. His jade-coloured aura would always spike when discussing his death, telling her instantly that he was spouting bullshit. He was lying. His addictions were not the underlying cause of his death. And Elia didn't just see that in his aura. She wasn't becoming a police officer for nothing. Didn't get a degree in Criminology for nothing, either. There was always something hidden away in those tired, sunken eyes of his, too. The darkness, the emptiness. The sense of betrayal? The obvious regret? As much as she wanted to take his word for it, deep down, she knew her powers were speaking the truth. It was the only thing he'd seemed to lie about, in the short time she had known him. Her magic would always swirl around her mind, whispering that he was deceiving her. That he was hiding something; something huge. She knew he was bloody lying. When she doubted her intuition, she knew she could rely on her magic; her powers were never wrong. Deep down, they both knew the drugs weren't what caused his untimely death. His addiction wasn't what left him in this position. Yeah, of course, it helped pave the road to this lonely...life. Ultimately, however, his habits didn't end him; something else did. And Elia knew it was _something so much darker_. 

*******

Once again, her train of thought was disrupted by Gary letting out a weak chuckle. She didn't know what he was laughing at and so, Elia returned her gaze to him. He had a small smile plastered across his lips and she twisted to sit up properly, legs folded carefully underneath her.  
"What's funny?" She questioned, brushing her greasy hair from her face as she watched him. She kept the edge out of her tone; there was no need to be catty with him. Yet, at least. If he was giggling at her, then it would be warranted. She might even throw a pillow at him.  
"Jus' thinking about your smartarse little quip." Elia immediately wanted to wither away when the shame washed over her. Now, Elia felt apologetic. Elia was impulsive. She was aware that she had a bad habit of speaking without thinking about it first. Ready and willing to apologise to him over hitting a nerve, Elia hesitated, a sheepish expression crossing her features. His dull and hollow eyes met hers casually, confusing the woman further. Was that pride Elia saw hanging low in that lifeless gaze? She couldn't completely tell.  
"Touché, kid." He folded his arms once more as he squinted at her. "I still stand by my point, though." His gaze showed off his levelheaded attitude and she felt his line of sight burning into her face. Elia let out a puff of air, rolling her radiant azure eyes. Gary was a snide little bugger when he wanted to be. He had a bright sense of spirit. It drove her up the wall; it was more exasperating than she thought it would be to have someone who matched her personality exactly following her around. He was sarcastic and could be an utter _prick_. But, he was quite entertaining, too. The differences between them were vast and incredibly obvious; one of them being the fact Gary seemed to hide his empathetic nature better than Elia could. Even when the two bickered, Elia couldn't ignore the rush of contentment she would feel. It was pleasant to wake up with some company nearby, always ready to make a snide comment or question her mental stability for getting intoxicated _again_. A sharp rapping on her front door echoed through her empty flat. The two turned towards the noise, both distracted from what they were doing. Elia felt the loud sound bounce around her already-pounding head. Rubbing her temples once again, Elia glared at the bedroom door with a flustered pout. It was at least half-twelve, Elia estimated. And Elia had no plans for today, her calendar was empty until roughly Thursday. She grumbled under her breath, ignoring Gary as she stretched, cracking her back. She _hated_ people who decided to show up unannounced. Elia groaned throatily and clambered to her feet, ignoring how her hangover screeched in complaint. Her ghostly companion continued to watch her impassively. Stretching once again, her joints popped and cracked, a strained gurgle escaping her throat as she did so. Feeling a little less rusty, Elia relaxed and lazily slipped a thin hair bobble into her hair, tying it tightly. After rolling her stiffening shoulders, Elia went to reach for her bedroom door handle, but an arm whipped out in an attempt to stop her. The sallow and see-through limb caught her eye, giving her a start and catching her gaze. Her fingers rested on the cold metal and she looked at Gary, glowering. Gary was stood, staring right back at her, his arm outstretched. He couldn't physically stop her; he didn't have that power. He was a ghost, his hand would just go straight through her. Elia gripped the metal handle, feeling it dig into her palm. He better have a good reason to get in her way like that or she's banishing him from her apartment for a week. 

Gary had accomplished what task he had set himself; to get Elia's waning attention. Elia took a breath, reminding herself that her fist would go through his face if she tried to punch him. She glanced down at the faded, bluish limb, seeing it was planted firmly in her path. He couldn't do much to stop her, physically. He didn't have that power. She could just walk through him and that'd be that. The door would be answered, whether he liked it or not. With a gentle exhale, Elia lifted her eyes and met his stare, eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. The expression that was pasted across his face was unmistakable. He was worried; more so than usual. His translucent eyes held a simple look of concern; an emotion she had never seen him wear in such a manner. Of course, there had been moments when he had shown genuine worry for her. But never in this way; not over such a trivial thing as an unexpected guest. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she swallowed thickly, throat drying out. It wouldn't have fazed her if it was a look worn by an actual person. When it was a ghost, it was somehow more disconcerting.  
"Somethin' doesn't feel right." Gary's tone had hardened, going from playful to solid ice. He didn't hide it fast enough. Elia heard the lilt of anxiety hidden behind that steely tone. She could see it in his eyes. Whatever had him this worried should scare her-but it didn't. Swallowing that apprehension like the aspirin she'll need later, she grabbed the door handle, feeling the rush of cold air as she moved through his outstretched arm. The limb disappeared briefly before reappearing as Gary dropped it back to his side. He scoffed bitterly.  
"Your bloody funeral." Elia chose to ignore him. She opened the door and slipped out, leaving without another word. She felt Gary's lifeless eyes burning into the back of her skull as she continued on her way.

*******

Compared to the bedroom, which was an absolute pigsty, the short hallway leading towards the living room and kitchen was reasonably clean, the air fresh and scented with myrrh. Pictures were hung up on the wall, a different wood for each frame and image encased in the glass. The painted cream stone was still in order, lined with sentimental memories. Elia's seventh birthday party. Jeanné's birthday too, with the cake Elia had made haphazardly, but Jeanné still enjoyed. A few Christmases. Even just simple moments others may look over. Jeanné reading to Elia before bed. Her expression of concentration when she learned her numbers or did her homework. It took a long time for Elia to realise why Jeanné did this, snapped images of the things that didn't seem to matter, immortalised those small moments in film. Even if Elia saw herself learning to ride a bike as insignificant now, Jeanné didn't. Jeanné was always able to find beauty in the smallest of things. From the way Elia's hair was constantly dishevelled and her eyes always alight with joy. She ran her fingers across a few pictures tenderly, seeing the one where she won her first-ever award; dancing. The one where she first learned to successfully read her tarot deck. Jeanné kept them to remind herself of these things, even if Elia didn't completely understand why. Jeanné held those little things, those moments dear, because it was the little things that mattered most. Drifting down into the living room, hand leaving the pictures, Elia continued to ignore the agitated knocking that would come and go in small intervals. She was coming, her visitor was hellbent on her answering the door, considering they were still waiting. They could bloody chill out a little.

The living room was spacious and somewhat tidy, books piled up in most areas. The worn sofas basked in the sunlight that streamed through the open curtains, warming the chocolate leather with its rays. The coffee table in the middle of the room was small in size, but it still looked grand, the oak polished perfectly and gleaming in the light. Well looked after. Again, it was littered with books. Old and new. Some were well-kept and in pristine condition, others were beaten yellow by the cruel hands of time. One of the discarded books caught her eye and she moved towards it. Smoothing her slender fingers across the old leather, an affectionate smile graced her lips, feeling its dents and dips from the engraved words. The Latin title was done in gold, engraved carefully, still smooth under her gentle touch. Feeling a warmth settle in her chest, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in weeks, Elia flicked open the cover gently. The pages were yellowed with age, but Elia made sure she looked after this particular book. It was one of her most prized possessions. She ran her fingers across the written words, exhaling.  
" _To my fallen angel_." After all of these years, Elia still never knew why Jeanné referred to her as such. It was a nickname, but Elia felt...different whenever it was said. A sense of guilt? A whisper of treachery? Even now, she didn't know why she was greeted with those emotions. The Wiccan woman never told her. Then again, Elia had never asked. Melancholy bit at her, staining her sweet nostalgia with a bitterness. _After all that happened, maybe she should have_. Mood sinking, Elia snapped the book closed and pushed it further away from her. Jeanné was the epitome of happiness. And when she raised Elia, she made sure she felt that joy. Jeanné tried her best to always be there, put up with worse than Elia will ever comprehend, but somehow...that woman always kept a smile on her face and gave love out like it meant nothing. Those years had been tainted by the evil that took Jeanné away; coloured Elia's childlike world with pain. But it helped Elia see things more clearly. Elia now understood why happiness was so sweet and colourful; it was because pain was a bitter truth, whereas happiness was nothing more than a beautiful _lie_.

Her thoughts were once again disturbed, the cloud of Jeanné's love punctured by that _damned knocking_. This time, it came across so much louder. More agitated, Elia noted, eyes flicking towards the locked front door. Clearly, the visitor was being insistent; hoping, demanding, she answered. How did they even know she was home? Whoever it was stood waiting and banging on the door like they were the fucking Garda could wait a few more seconds. Impatient little bastard. The flat-screen TV had been left on overnight, a monotonous news reporter talking, reporting; doing her boring job. Elia ignored it and moved towards the door. She chose not to leave her unwanted guest hanging, as much as she bloody wanted to, considering they were being incredibly disruptive. She gently moved a lilac jewellery box, decorated with crystals that shone in the light. Ears pricking towards the door, Elia noted how the banging had shifted into more jerky knocks of frustration. With each and every thud on the wood, Elia felt her head throb. Elia groaned to herself and rubbed her forehead with her free hand, nose scrunching up in distaste. The sound was grating on her senses and just making her hangover feel that little bit worse. The guest had one hell of a knock, considering Elia could feel it vibrating through the worn tan carpet. She rummaged through the cluttered drawer of the box and snatched hold of a set of silver keys, the keychains attached clinking together. The metal dug painfully into her palm as she clenched her fist around them, gritting her teeth in her exasperation. Stepping over a pair of flats that had been lazily kicked off, Elia finally made her way towards her front door.  
"I'm bloody well coming, you can knock it off." She mumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Elia shoved the key in the lock and twisted it hastily. The lock clicked and she pulled the door open with a forced smile and a flourish.  
"Hello-" _even with her stupid powers, Elia never saw it coming_.

*******

A booted foot slammed into her abdomen. Elia let out a girly shriek as the oxygen was smacked right out of her lungs. One kick was all it took to send her careening across her living room. Letting out another howl, Elia walloped into her pretty coffee table, books flying off in different directions; it was as if they were fleeing the scene, diving to safety, not wanting to be caught in the action. The table, surprisingly, wasn't as sturdy as it looked. The legs crumpled under her weight when she crashed into it. It creaked in complaint when it dropped to the carpet, sending her face-first into the material of the flooring. Her nose cracked on impact and Elia let out a throaty whine, hauling herself onto her knees.  
"Aren't you just full of bloody chivalry?" The groaned out question was met with nothing but an arrogant reticent that was smoother than polished glass. Her senses screeched and Elia was barely quick enough to avoid another kick, one aimed directly for her face. The foot whistled past her cheek, making Elia yelp in surprise. She back-rolled over her hands, landing awkwardly on her haunches, eyes round with her fear. Adrenaline pulsed through her bloodstream, replacing the hangover that was hovering over her head like a dark cloud. Elia let out a choked sound, sucking in a wheezy breath. Her ribs throbbed dully, the pain vibrating up through her. She kept an arm loosely looped around her midsection in an attempt to ease the pain. Her expression was one mixed between shock and stubbornness. There was no way this stranger, this _prick_ , could smack her about like that. Playing dirty wasn't fair. Elia shook the stars out of her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip. Gary was right for once. She should have _listened to him_.

Scrambling to her feet unsteadily, Elia launched herself towards the nearest item she could use as a weapon; in her case, it was a discarded book. She snatched hold of it and held it to her chest, feeling her heart practically slam into the cover. Her attacker had turned to watch her actions, his fiery green eyes alight with a sick sense of amusement. She was cornered. Like a wild animal. The man tilted his head, those green eyes burning into her. She could practically feel the animosity in his stare. There was no hope in Hell that Elia could take this guy out. He was 5'11, tops, and built like a brick shithouse. Despite his buff frame, he seemed to have a very effeminate facial structure. His cheekbones were high and defined, shaping his face flawlessly. His eyelashes were as dark as his hair, long enough to brush his cheeks whenever he blinked. If he wasn’t trying to kick the daylights out of her, Elia might have found him attractive.

Elia swallowed thickly, eyes darting this way and that. The terrifying thing wasn't the fact she was being attacked by a total stranger. It was the fact he didn't have an aura smudging his outline. There was no colour there. Nothing to tell her what was going through his head, what he planned to do next. Her powers were null in this scenario.  
"Think fast, dickhead." She launched the book at him as hard as she could muster. A wave of dusty grey magic rose from his hand and the book halted mid-air. With a simple flick of his fingers, the book moved once again, flying off and whacking into a vase. The vase shattered on impact and the woman winced at the sound. He had magic, too. _Just like her_. She narrowed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing down her fear. Kicking the living _shite_ out of a woman half his size didn't even knock his pretty raven-coloured hair. His lips parted as he let out a cruel laugh, the sound ominous in itself. It echoed around the silent living room. Elia observed him, trying to think of something. _Anything_. He was way taller than her; and bigger. Her thoughts raced. How could she handle this? She could stand on a chair and slap his smirk six ways into Sunday? Or use her magic, too? It did take two to tango. If she couldn't read his aura, using physical magic was something she was good at. And it was the only thing she knew well. Elia ran out of options as he grew bored and advanced on her.

Avoiding his next move, a wild haymaker aimed for her face, Elia scrambled to her feet and vaulted over her sofa. The haymaker wasn't necessarily a good punch; an easy block. Duck and avoid. Usually one she saw drunken men use when they got into a bar fight with another rowdy patron. He was undisciplined. Untrained. He wasn't exactly a good fighter, just like her. The man let out an annoyed huff and span around to face her. Her breath shuddered when she exhaled. She circled him.  
"Stop," Elia cursed herself mentally at the fact her voice quivered. It made it sound less than a direct order and more like a plea. She threw a shaky hand out in warning, watching as he took another step towards her. And then another. He was taunting her. "I said fucking stop." _Remember what Jeanné taught you. Remember what she died for_. Elia felt her chest tighten.  
"Or what, petaldust?" His voice didn't seem to have an accent, which was strange; Elia couldn't pinpoint where he was from. His tone was low and sinister. Elia exhaled, trying to regain control of the situation. 

Throat drying out, Elia swallowed and steadied her shaking hand. There was no time for fear. Fear led to panic. And panic would lead to mistakes. There was no room to make _mistakes_.  
" _Evanescit_." Her voice still trembled, but she hid it behind the power, the Latin falling from her lips with ease. It was different this time, however. Out of all the times she'd used her magic, this one felt different. It felt...stirring. Her words were spoken fluently and quick. Elia wasn't exactly an idiot. She'd done this song and dance before; usually when exorcising demons. Elia knew the language well, she'd been speaking it since she was a child; not many people did nowadays. Latin may be used in words and phrases. But, ultimately, it was seen as a dead language. After focusing, her outstretched hand lit up a soft shade of cerulean, the skin of her palm tingling. With a swift push, Elia watched as her magic slithered its way over to her assailant. Her eyes widened when she realised her error too late. He snorted and rolled his eyes like her magic was beneath him. He wasted no time in tracing an ash-coloured symbol in the air. One she recognised. Elia felt a strange sensation crawl over her, one she couldn't totally pinpoint. She couldn't place it, but Elia knew the symbol from somewhere. _Knew it like she had seen it before_. 

She didn't have much time to think about how she knew the symbol, considering her attacker was busy tormenting her with it. He let out a snort, sounding chagrined and splayed his fingers out, pushing the symbol he'd drawn in her direction. Her magic ceased its movement, halting completely for a mere second. Senses spiking once more, Elia's eyes went round when she realised what was about to happen. Unable to move out of the way in time, Elia was forced to watch how her magic abruptly changed its course, reversing and going back towards her. The blue magic slammed into her sternum, knocking the wind out of her. Her magic was used to defend her. Elia should have gone for the attack, not for the defensive. He used it against her. Her magic came back to bite her in the arse. Elia should have seen that coming; she'd been practising magic her entire fucking life. Her magic wasn't exactly the strongest force; at least, not yet. She needed to work on it. But her daily life and duties came first, especially considering her training to be a police officer. _It didn't matter anymore_. Another wave of magic followed her own, hitting her even harder. Shattering through her flat's large and clean front window, Elia felt a shriek almost rip its way out of her throat. Killing her couldn't have been his ultimate goal. Even then, there were other...less terrifying ways to die than _this_. Her stomach dropped out of her arse, but hands snatched hold her shirt's collar. 

*******

The man had stepped in to save her life; barely. She was no longer falling, and Elia sucked in a breath, heart slamming against her ribcage.  
"That...was _pathetic_." He sneered, voice practically a growl. Elia choked on her next breath, kicking her legs violently, trying to find purchase. He wasn't pulling her back inside; he was hanging her over the edge. Her bottom lip quivered, and she held his wrist in a vice-like grip. She didn't dare look down. Elia lived on the top floor of the flats. Eight stories in the air. Her blood pounded past her ears, almost blocking out the sound of the breeze that blew. She stared him in the face, silently begging him not to loosen his grip. Elia was completely helpless. His strong hand and steady grip was the only thing keeping her from falling to her fucking death. He brought her closer to him, almost enough so that she could place her feet on the window ledge. She could feel the plastic brush against her socks, cold and slightly damp. The pull still wasn't enough. His grip tightened as she struggled, which wasn't the most reassuring thing in the world. It made the material of her shirt tighten too, making that little bit harder to breathe. Now Elia was only mere inches away from him, she got a better look at his face. His skin was blemished, a few acne scars lining his pale skin. Freckles were lightly dotted over his nose and cheeks. Those green eyes of his were flecked with hazel and seemed to pulse with colour. Energy. Confused, she wriggled, trying to get a better angle of his face. Glowing eyes weren't normal. Seemingly understanding what she was trying to do, he tightened his fingers in warning, making her yelp in surprise. He listened to her whimper in both fear and frustration. He _reeked_ of magic that wasn't his own. This was power Elia didn't understand. It was too...complex for her to know. 

His gaze was rife with sadistic amusement and a whine tore itself out of her throat. His lips twitched into a grin.  
"You're not the one in control, are you?" Elia managed to wheeze out, trying to understand. He cocked an eyebrow in surprise, looking pleased. He remained silent, her question left unanswered. He straightened his arms and Elia's feet kicked automatically, her breath catching in her throat.  
"You're a smart girl," he finally answered, voice smooth. "You'll figure it out." Elia frowned softly and snorted.  
"What does that even mean?" Elia hissed, full of questions. He shrugged plainly in response, lips pouted.  
"As I said, you'll figure it out. Assuming you come back as planned." Elia struggled and grumbled. _What the Hell did that mean?_ "Either way, Alyssa sends her regards." She tightened her grip on his wrists, her magic whispering that she was in danger; that he was mere seconds away from dropping her. She held on for dear life, her frown melting into an expression of panic, silently screaming for mercy. Why did Elia feel like she knew that name? She'd never met anyone called Alyssa and, yet... Elia didn't have much time to ponder on it. Her scheme to buy herself more time had failed.

 _He let go_.

*******

Those glass shards started moving again, like time itself had ceased its flow in those terrifying, confusing, likely final moments. A gasp dragged its way through her lips as her stomach was shoved right back up into her lungs. The shards of broken glass stabbed at her clothing, slashed at any bare skin it could find. Her cheek stung sharply when a piece sliced at her face, forcing tears into her eyes, blurring her vision. It was as if those shards were trying to grab at whatever they could find; save her from her impending demise. Gary's fuzzy form appeared behind her assailant, her would-be murderer, his distorted face masked with a look of dread. Gary popped out through the man's midsection and her attacker looked mildly confused at the sensation he was likely to be feeling. His blurred and blue face swam in her vision and a part of her was glad to see him. He leaned further out and waved for her hand, seemingly forgetting he could do nothing to help her. Her skin tingled when his hand disappeared, going straight through her. It popped back into existence when he yanked it away. It that single moment, it dawned on him. He couldn't play hero. Not this time. The look on his face was practically unreadable, but his aura screamed nothing but powerlessness. Her heart nearly stopped there and then; especially when gravity began to do its job. It came to claim her like she was nothing more than a prize. 

Another reflexive gasp escaped her, eyes widening in terror. The speckles of forest green dotted around her irises were unmistakable as they caught the rays of sunlight that shone upon her falling form, acting as a silent witness to the crime. Her legs finally began shifting, kicking, feeling nothing but the air around them. Time caught up to her. It dawned on Elia that there was no saving her now. She was royally _fucked_. Her slender arms whipped out once again, fingers reaching out desperately; reaching out for something, for someone, for her attacker, for Gary. Gary's mouth was moving, saying something that Elia couldn't hear. Her killer was still stood, shattered glass around him, looking down at her like she was the _filth_ of the Earth; like she meant nothing to anyone. Which was partly true. All of the people she had once loved were dead and gone; or just gone. But now, that no longer mattered.

The wind generated by her falling blew her long blonde hair into her face. Her vision was cut into strips by her greasy locks, partially blinding her. Taking a deep breath, lungs aching from the oxygen she had been denying them, Elia went to scream bloody murder; but found, she couldn't. All that came out was a soft, breathless squeak. God, Elia was terrified. Of course, anyone would be. She'd take a bullet over this any day of the fucking week. _No matter what, someone would be afraid of death. There was definitely no avoiding the bastard now_. Windows raced by her, turning into a silvery-blue, the sun reflecting off the glass making her eyes sting. Her chest tightened. She gave in to the fear, allowing the feeling to crawl over her, make her feel like she'd had a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over her. She allowed herself to feel her magic pulsing through her bloodstream; paired with the adrenaline that had joined the party the minute the fight began. It made her feel like nothing more than static, ears buzzing with the sound of her own heartbeat. Her ribs ached, Elia able to feel how hard her heart thrummed against them. Might as well get some nice cardio in because once she landed, there was no hope in Hell her heart would beat again. Elia could have cried, but she truly didn't see the point. Fear was a natural response to this. Crying wasn't going to fix anything. What was the bloody point in fighting the inevitable? It was still going to happen. Even if she cried, even if her heart pounded so hard Elia thought she was going to have a fucking cardiac, even if she felt the fear eating her alive. It was going to happen, no matter what she felt. There wasn't a damn hero ready to swoop in and save her hungover arse. Her breath wheezed past her lips, ragged and loud. Would it be over quickly? _Most fucking likely_. Her terror reached a nauseating crescendo, painfully so. The high didn't last long before it dulled ever so slightly. It still thrummed within her, pulsed around, but it lessened its intensity. There was nothing she could do about it. Elia could make peace with that fact; she was as good as dead. All she could really do now was close her eyes and _wait_.

*******

DOA.  
Dead on arrival.  
That's technically what Elia now was. Only benefit was that she was dead on impact. Instantly, she was gone. She didn't hear the creaking, the buckling of metal when she finally crashed down, gravity doing its duty until she _finally_ crash-landed on top of someone's pricey, matte black Bentley. It would have still been sleek and sexy if it was parked a few feet further down the street. The unlucky car, however, was flattened. Elia didn't hear the screeching of metal, the way the frame of the car's roof collapsed under the dead weight of her petite frame. She didn't feel the way it practically crumpled inwards to cradle her corpse. She didn't hear the glass immediately give way, shatter like her window had before. It sprayed outwards onto the street. Her body, the smashed car, the glass everywhere...it looked like something Jigsaw would have for a fucking water feature. Elia didn't hear the fractured and damaged pieces tinkling onto the concrete, which was still slightly damp from the night's heavy rain. She didn't hear the way it bounced a few feet and clattered softly before coming to a stop. Everything falling into a mournful silence. She didn't hear that silence be broken by the car alarm, which blared out shrilly, screaming in horror at the damage, the scene it found itself trapped in. The owner of the expensive car was probably somewhere screaming too; their nice, again _expensive_ , car just got totalled. There was no fixing the damage done, it had been completely written off by the body of Elia James. She never had to withstand the ear-piercing car alarm, but the people around her did. The people who were just living their daily lives, doing their daily things, even just going for lunch. The people who just witnessed a possible crime. Or suicide, they couldn't possibly know yet. All they knew was what they just saw was petrifying. Probably _traumatising_. She didn't hear people cursing in bewilderment, seeing people pointing in disbelief, shock. Didn't hear their shouts, their terror, their confusion, their disgust. Some poor people were frozen in fear, stuck staring at the scene before them. Some were on their phones, either taking videos, pictures or calling 999. Multiple voices overlapped into a culmination of sound that could be heard across a few streets. She heard...nothing. Of course, she didn't. Couldn't. Elia was very, _very_ dead.

But, by God, Elia felt it _all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a good month or so, but it takes a while to write them. And because I usually take a two-week break after completing every chapter (like I am now, I need to regain my sanity). Doesn't mean I won't write, I'll probably work on some one-shots while I'm chilling out because it is impossible for me to not write. 
> 
> I hope you liked this update because I had fun writing it (despite the glitching in my new laptop that made lose some progress and I was a literal mess for a day).
> 
> -Susanna x


	4. Ravenscar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia hides away in the chapel to avoid having treatment. She reminisces on her powers and her past, choosing to avoid Heaven and their beliefs. In the chapel, she meets her nurse, who surprises her with a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any triggers in this chapter, just a really bitter Elia

**"Your story may not have such a happy beginning. But that doesn't make you who you are. It is the rest of your story. Who you choose to be. So...who are you?" The Soothsayer**

Forest-green eyes snapped open when the sharp sound of knuckles against the door greeted her senses. It wasn't like she was asleep, anyway. All she was doing was lying on the uncomfortable bed, waiting for the birds to start singing. Waiting for dawn to break, for the rising sun to light up her darkened room. Elia James was welcomed by the plain, monotonous white of the ceiling. Considering Elia had no clock, she estimated it to be after six in the morning. That had been the usual wake-up time for the patients; between six and seven. Ravenscar was the name of the mental hospital, institution, Elia had booked herself into. It may have had its issues and may have been a tad shittier than Elia had expected, but it was _safe_. And, after everything, protection was all she wanted. 

Despite the staff and the feel of the place, it was rather reasonable. Elia had been here long enough to know the ins and outs, which doctor was the kindest, which part of the building was the most tranquil. Elia had spent the last two years stuck there, trying to heal and peace her mangled life back together. Her murder didn't exactly help her stay on the down-low. It made her quite famous all across Galway. While she was recuperating, Elia heard the news reports. She heard the nurses chattering about it. She heard the rumours that rippled through men and women alike, the whispers in the local pubs going from bartender to patron. She was a miracle. She was the girl who lived through something she shouldn't have. She was known as the girl who survived the _impossible_. If only those hapless, naive bastards knew. Elia didn't live through anything. A part of her died on top of that Bentley. A part she could _never_ get back. 

As a mortal, Elia spent a lot of her time alone. Drinking for most of it. Talking to Gary. He was missing; she hadn't seen his stupid ghost since she died. It only added to her heartache. He'd been there for a while and he had abruptly vanished. God only knew where Gary had gone. Maybe her killer banished him. Elia hoped not. Despite how much they quarrelled, Gary had a kind (albeit blissfully ignorant) heart. Without him prowling around, Elia would have probably lost her sanity. Without him, she would have lost it completely. She didn't have many friends to begin with. Gary was the person she reluctantly relied on. Elia spent so much of her time being terrified. She was afraid of the unknown, haunted by the mistakes she had made and drowning her sorrows in cheap bloody booze. Now, Elia was different. She was dead and she was powerful. Her magic was so much more potent, more magnified and it sometimes physically hurt to use. She had died and unlocked her angel-side, her bloodline sweeping in to stop her going to Hell; to stop her from losing herself and her soul. If Elia had to die, fine; she certainly deserved it. Elia hated it, but she knew deep down she deserved everything that happened to her.

A few weeks after her death, her magic often stepped into fabricating a pulse and breathing pattern; usually without Elia controlling it. It was a big help. She was given the all-clear and discharged from the hospital she'd been admitted to. As soon as Elia no longer had a stable place to stay, she was terrified again. So, she did what she thought was best; packed a bag and _ran like Hell_. She moved to England and took a few more weeks to realise she wasn't...doing okay. Physically, Elia was fine. Better than fucking ever. Mentally and emotionally? _Definitely not_. Every day was the same; now she was dead, alcohol couldn't numb the pain. She had to handle it all on her own, in a country barely knew and she eventually buckled under the pressure. Nightmares, paranoia, flashbacks. A constant sense of fucking panic. She was tired of being _afraid_. So, Ravenscar was where she ended up. Shitty, but safe. Secure. And that was where she hid away. It was where she stayed. Elia had excellent control of her magic. Especially now, a year later. New powers, new spells and a language she never knew existed; until she died, that was. Elia was incredibly competent when it came to magic; all types. But she was doubtful on if her murderer's magic was strong enough to kill her permanently. If he was capable of killing an angel with both physical prowess and magical. Considering her status of a half-angel and how suddenly she got her powers, she didn't leave it to chance. 

*******

All her life she felt different to her friends, her peers, everyone. And no matter how hard she tried, Elia never understood why. Everything made fucking sense as soon as she died. It all connected as soon as she came to in the morgue. As soon as she opened her eyes, blinded by the artificial lights hanging over her now-living corpse, she fucking remembered _everything_. Her past. Her fall from grace. Elia used to be a feared and noble warrior. The Angel of fucking Justice. It made _sense_. It was like every puzzle piece she had managed to collect over the years fit together in a moment of bewildered, irrational clarity. Elia had never been human; at least, not entirely. She was a Nephilim. The daughter of an angel and a human. Was that why she was disowned by her biological parents? Because she wasn't pure? At least she had Jeanné. She was a marvellous mother; she was gentle and loving. Selfless enough to adopt her. To accept her as her own, even though she was completely different. Jeanné was mortal. Elia was still half-angel, despite being human for most of her life. Maybe that was why she learned magic so quickly. Maybe that was why she had an unfamiliar understanding of the Latin language. Maybe that was why Jeanné called her a fallen angel; a fallen star. Jeanné was a psychic, after all. She may have known the truth about Elia and didn't bring it up. Then again, that was probably for the best. Telling a child they would perish one day in the future didn't seem smart. Telling a child they weren't fully human didn't seem like a wise move, either. Maybe Jeanné felt like it would be better to wait until Elia was old enough to fully understand what was said. A gnawing sense of despair snipped at her heart, making her chest ache. Elia didn't know what hurt more; the fact Jeanné never told her the truth or the fact she never lived to see Elia grow up.

Elia hauled herself out of her thoughts, letting out an airy sigh. Her show-white hair shifted as she straightened her neck, staring directly at the ceiling. The strands fanned out around her head slightly, knotty in places. Her view of the ceiling blurred and Elia took a few seconds to gather herself and the thoughts, ignoring the feels that ran through her. The abrupt grief. The aching wish for normalcy. As soon as Elia woke up in the damn morgue, she knew immediately her life would never be the same again; even now, Elia struggled to come to terms with that fact. A lot had changed. Her powers were the main things that had been completely switched up; her magic was so much stronger now that she had expired. After a few days in the hospital, Elia had noticed her hair changing. It had startled her for a second before it dawned on her. She had reverted to what she looked like as an angel. Gone were her wild partying days and almost getting busted by the police. Gone were the days her hair was always greasy, a golden-blonde that could look rather nice when she bothered to wash it and take care of herself. Gone were azure eyes that were usually devoid of any sort of emotion. Despite that, the majority of Elia remained the same. Now, she just had her traditional, dull angel form. Vivid white hair and stunning green eyes. Taking a deep breath she didn't exactly need, Elia pushed herself up and shifted her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet were met with the ice-cold linoleum flooring of her room. With a faint huff, she dug her closed fists into her spine, bending awkwardly to crack her back. Shaking her arms out to rid herself of the jitters, Elia straightened up and ran a hand through her dishevelled hair. Time for bloody breakfast. 

*******

After spending half of the morning avoiding her overbearing doctor, Elia had finally had the space to wander into the lesser-travelled parts of the hospital. The halls weren't as decorated; not like it was anywhere else, either. The chairs were a plain cream colour, showing signs of how unused they were. Obviously, the halls were cleaned. Some of the rooms were used, others were not. Elia had heard rumours they were going to renovate the entire floor. The hallway was still quite clean, despite the worn floor and the dusty window ledges. The window panes were filthy, sunlight barely able to shine through the thick layer of grime. She could feel the presence of the people in the louder, chattier parts of the building. Her doctor treating other people, people doing paperwork, others on a sneaky smoke break. Elia couldn't be fussed with others currently. She didn't have any sessions until much later in the day, they could bugger off and leave her alone for a few hours. She needed the quiet. Her magic was acting up again; had been all morning. It was strange. Elia had grown used to the powers thrown upon her by her murder. But this morning was different. She was battered with new emotions; ones she couldn't comprehend. Understand. It was like a solid punch to the face that made her magic flare right up; painfully so. Like there was a threat, a problem that needed to be solved. Elia wasn't ready to be that person; to fix things. It was no longer her duty to be what Heaven demanded her to be. There was no more Angel of bloody Justice. There hadn't been for more than a millennium.

As soon as she'd finished eating, Elia had managed to slip off outside. Considering she was dead, Elia didn't need to eat anything they gave her. Despite that factor, Elia still carried on with her habit of eating. She liked food when she was alive; there was no need to stop enjoying it just because she didn't need to anymore. And Elia needed to keep up appearances. As far as she knew, everyone here thought she was alive; bar one person. A nurse. She ignored other patient's chattering amongst themselves and left. She had better control of her magic nowadays; she'd spent most of her nights practising, considering sleep was no longer an issue. She still had small things to work on and had to work out what triggered it to go nuts like that. One trigger was stress. Her lack of emotional self-control was also an issue; it always had been, even before her powers got stronger. These two things paired together made Elia's masquerading a fucking _nightmare_. It made things more difficult. It made it harder to focus on the techniques she had adapted. She was starting to get a better grip of managing both magic and stress, but she still tripped up with it every now and then. With a gentle hum, Elia ran her fingers across the white-washed walls as she walked, feeling the roughness against her skin. For now, no one seemed to be looking for her. If her doctors wanted to seek her out, they'd have a hard time finding her. By the time they got annoyed, Elia would be fine and in their line of sight. She had her sources; and her magic. She could sense them dotted around the place still. Even now, they weren't bothered about her current whereabouts. Elia could continue on her way with no interruption. Hopefully, it would stay that way for a few more hours. But, for now, Elia could focus on what was right in front of her; how the air was musty and old, how the floor felt underneath her dirty white shoes. For now, Elia continued walking down the deserted hallways, aimless and quiet.

Sunlight streamed through the glass window of the dainty little chapel Elia had finally managed to get to. The harmonious aura of the place was relaxing; the silence was tranquil. It made the tension immediately drain from her muscles, a sigh leaving her lips as her shoulders slumped. She looked around and took in her surroundings; it was routine, at this point. The wooden doors closed behind her with a faint click. Elia was the only person in the chapel; light pooled through the only window, the exit light thrumming a gentle hue of green as she stretched, humming as she rolled her shoulders. The floor had been carpeted terribly, but the chapel itself was reasonably pretty. The walls were just as boring as the rest of the hospital, bleached white. The dark oak pews were old and in need of a bloody good polish. The carpet had begun to fray in places, the cream colour fading away; it reminded her of her bedroom, before she left Galway. Decrepit and worn. Barely even a colour anymore. Sunlight pooled on the ground near the altar, the multicoloured glass casting shadows up and down the opposite walls, across the shabby flooring. Despite its imperfections, the chapel was inviting and quaint. It was the best part of the hospital, Elia couldn't deny. Of course, it was flawed in a multitude of different ways; much like everything else in the building. But it was the better place she could hide out in without being pestered by other people, be it patient or doctor. It was one of her favourite places to go when her magic overwhelmed her or when her mind ate her alive. A place to seek solace in when things just got too much. That's what chapels and churches were. Holy places of God. Places of hope. Sanctuary. It wasn't like she could talk out her feelings with others. Discuss her powers. Her murder. That wasn't going to help her at all; mainly due to the fact they didn't understand. They never would. 

Despite its worn-out beauty, the chapel felt oddly empty. It had been sparsely decorated. The pews had been abandoned by the members of staff, left to decay. Elia had used her magic to keep most of them from falling apart. Not many people seemed to come into the chapel; nobody. Elia thought it was strange. It was as if the chapel itself was cursed or something, considering most of them avoided it like the plague. Despite the breeze picking up ever so slightly outside, the chapel remained utterly reticent. Elia ran her fingers through her hair, choosing to ignore the wooden altar that had been lazily perched in front of the Cross. Knowing everything now made her have a slight distaste towards Heaven in general. And if it wasn't annoying enough, the damn thing wasn't even placed properly; Elia had noticed that it was glaringly off-centre. Tearing her eyes from the bloody thing, she directed her gaze to the flowers perched on the windowsill. They were yellow carnations that had been sat in a patterned pastel blue vase had once again begun to wilt. She'd been watering them as often as she could, even moved the vase to the window ledge so the flowers would get more sunlight. Elia let out a disgruntled tut, exhaling through her clenched teeth. She adjusted the sleeves of her pale grey shirt and moved towards the limp flowers. It was an easy fix. Looking after the flowers at least gave her something to do; even if she wasn't particularly good at it. Distracted, she ran her fingers across the wooden pews as she drifted past them. The oak was smooth under her calloused fingers, comforting against her battle-worn hands; it was silky and undamaged; unlike her skin.

Magic often came with a price. She had been using it for years; many variations of it. Light and dark. Elia had been proficiently trained in many different types of the occult; Jeanné had made sure of that. Physical and mental manifestation had different effects and processes. Using her powers mentally had always been a much easier task. All it needed was a swift thought, no action. The mind was so much more powerful than people seemed to give it credit for. It controlled the body, it allowed people to shit talk others without them even knowing; unless they were telepathic. Physical magic was a little trickier. It relied on knowledge, spells, speaking languages many people considered dead. Bolts of magic hurt, sometimes, especially if Elia didn't focus hard enough. It required muscle memory, finesse. _Focus_. . It needed sophistication. If she lost her focus, her magic would falter. It would fizzle out, like a gust of wind blowing out a lit candle. Elia had always been good with her spellcasting; it took time to learn, even if she was seen as a fast learner. Physical magic could and would irritate her skin; much like everyone else who used that sort of power. Used strenuously enough, it would bruise and sting. It would cause pressure; like someone was pressing against her palms. Over time, the overuse of it would eventually callus the skin. Elia knew that well, she had rough patches on the pads of her fingers, scattered across the palms of her hands. Reaching the plant, Elia hummed and leaned over. She rested her chin on the cold wooden ledge, exhaling as she glanced at the flowers. It looked like a bright yellow pompom, petals drooping downwards ever so slightly.  
"Tsk, I'm meant to be an angel and I can't even keep a damn plant alive, never mind a fucking mortal." She muttered to herself, propping her hand under her chin when she lifted her head. She stared at the plant like it would move. Lifting a finger, she pressed it delicately against a petal. It felt fragile and she watched as a gentle blue light entered it; rippled through it like a droplet of water breaking the stillness of a lake. The plant immediately perked back up, its petals filled with life once again, revitalised. Its leaves sprung up, the gentle green flooding back into them. A smile graced her lips.  
"Stay alive this time, I water you almost three times a week." With that, Elia pushed off the window ledge and stretched, glancing out of the window as she did so.

*******

The grass was still green, albeit faded in its colour. It had been cut haphazardly, most of it still patchy and overgrown. The day had progressed further, the sun rising further up into the sky, its rays barely able to push through the cloud cover that hid the blue from the half-angel's view. Birds flapped around in the air, having the freedom she was denied. Some were perched on the branches of the old oak tree that was hanging lazily over the rusted chainlink fence. Some were gently hopping around on the grassy ground, searching for something to eat. Elia watched them with quiet interest, a young robin hopping along on the concrete. Another smile pulled at her features as she watched, hearing it chirp as it went on its way. Jeanné was definitely correct; there was always beauty in the smallest of things. The little robin looked up towards her, tilting its head as it peered at her in its curiosity. It watched her for a few seconds, mimicking the movements of her head before it wiggled and took off, wings flapping gently as it did so. It disappeared off into the sky and Elia craned her neck to watch the robin until it was out of sight. Elia's lips twitched and she fiddled with the ends of her hair, taking a small step backwards. Silence filled the chapel once again. She ran her fingers along one of the pews as she moved towards it gracefully, sitting down and inhaling deeply. The air was stale and dry, much to Elia's discomfort; she couldn't exactly swing the window open to let some fresh air in, either. She didn't need to bloody well breathe, anyway. Her scoff broke the quiet and she mentally scolded herself. She was deceased, she didn't need to do anything other people did; _mortals did_. Elia didn't need to eat, sleep, breathe, bathe. But, Elia chose to do it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted, no one could exactly stop her. And she had an appearance to keep up. Elia wanted to get the hell out of this place. Telling everyone she was dead and graced with powers by God Himself wasn't the way to do it. Elia leaned back in the pew and exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

A slight creaking noise echoed through the chapel, through the silence. Elia realised it was the pew she had sat in; the wood was complaining, aching in its protest, having not been properly used in months. The wood was dusty and cold, the chill of it seeping through the thin material of her slacks. Elia couldn't fully feel it. Another perk of being dead, she assumed; Elia did not react to temperature. She couldn't feel the shive that was supposed to run up her back at the cold, couldn't be caused any sort of discomfort. Elia exhaled once again, clasping her hands and resting her elbows on her thighs. Her vision blurred slightly in her distraction and Elia jerked herself out of her thoughts, blinking rapidly to regain her focus. Once she could see clearly, Elia found herself staring at the statue of the poor bastard hanging on the large, grimy Cross. She couldn't stop the help the feeling of hatred that coursed through her. Her forest green eyes ignited with a look of betrayal, revulsion. Heaven was one shitty place, now she looked back on it. Elia was one of their best and they all knew it. Of course, that wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to stop them from getting rid of her. Her skillset and leadership were null. Even when she was a Pure-Blood angel, Elia chose to serve no master but herself. She chose to do what was right, not what she was bloody well told. She loathed the idea of Heaven now; along with their bullshit ideals. They tossed her aside like she meant nothing to them and their plans. After everything she did, every rule she followed, every war she fucking fought-Elia was still disposable. She still meant _nothing_. 

After her death, a rather compassionate nurse helped her dig further into her past. Even if she remembered every minute detail, Elia wanted to see what she felt like she was missing. All she wanted to know about was the written pieces; the half-angel knew they existed. They had to. Before the huge gap in her memory after being sent into Dormancy, she knew she had been mentioned in many Enochian scriptures. She was always known as the courageous Angel of Justice. She was a warrior, after all. She'd done nothing but fight for Heaven and what they fucking stood for. Elia searched everywhere; when the nurse, Dominik, had a day off, he would scroll through every archive; both physical ones and ones that floated around on the Internet. Sadly, it seemed that time had claimed many of those said scriptures and all evidence of her existence had been lost forever. When Dominik managed to breach that subject with the half-angel, Elia was devastated. She was heartbroken at the fact those treasured documents were lost. But not just because of them disappearing, no; it hurt that could no longer remind herself of her things she once had faith in, the laws she broke, the humanity she cherished so much that she chose to give up her home to defend it. It ached that little bit more because no one up in the clouds or on Earth would truly remember her name and the things she stood for. She no longer had a say in what was said, had no control to decide what was fact and what was fiction. She no longer had a part of the religion she watched form, once; at least, between God and His angels. There wasn't a single bloody mention of her in the Bible, either; anywhere. Elia had read it as a child, to learn thing Jeanné asked her too. Even now, in the chapel, she'd picked up the dustiest Bible she'd ever seen and flicked through it. No matter how hard she looked, there was nothing. 

Then again, she was slightly relieved she couldn't find anything. If they mentioned her somewhere, she would be portrayed as the enemy; many fallen angels were often depicted as evil. Corrupted. Heaven looked down upon her. All they knew her as was a fallen angel. Her accomplishments meant fuck all. All she had was a rebellious nature and a shattered halo. Elia still struggled to figure out what she was. Who she was meant to be. In her old home's eyes, Elia was damaged goods. Too disobedient. All Elia could see herself as was an angel who had lost every single part of herself in the pursuit of saving Earth, lost her belief in her home and their narrow-minded ideals. Scowling, Elia cracked her fingers and leaned back in the pew, feeling a mixture disgust and an odd sense of solace. At least Elia hadn't lost everything; they hadn't completely thrown her aside. She wasn't fully classed as a fallen angel. Once upon a time, Elia had immense pride in herself, her skill and her wings. Back when she was a Pure-Blood, those wings were stunning; a solid pearl white and unblemished. 

Now, things had changed. She was no longer one of them, she was a half-angel damned to Hell, disgraced for her actions and practically locked out of fucking Heaven. She hadn't lost it all. She may have been a fallen angel, but it felt like they had let her off; loosened the collar around her neck. Every fallen angel's wings were meant to turn a raven black; a colour so dark it hurt to look at. Her wings did not. They lost their shade of white, however, and stripped into a soft smokey grey. Elia hated the sight of them; luckily, they had the own sort of magic and could disappear and reappear on her command. She could admire that they were pretty, majestic. But now they seemed cumbersome, clunky and looked _huge_ \- she reckoned they had a wingspan of six feet, tops. Elia rarely preened the feathers; she never used them to fly, anyway, there was no way they could be dirty. Even then, she didn't want to look at them, never mind bloody use them. They were an insult; salt to an open wound. All they were were permanent reminders of a home she had begun to hate, the people who detested her. Those wings were a reminder of the things she'd lost in the pursuit of justice. She didn't know her place in the world. She wanted to go home but wanted to fit in more with the mortals. Despite everything that had happened, Elia still had faith in them; she always would. She was raised a human until she snuffed it and learned the truth. Heaven hated her. Earth did not. So...maybe she still had a place to call home. 

God, she wanted nothing more than to just get out of there. As charming as the place could be, that was where Elia's praise ended. Ravenscar was a stinking _shithole_. Their medical practices were unorthodox and less than humane. Were they even legal? Elia hadn't a clue. Closing her eyes once again, she felt her long eyelashes brush the porcelain skin of her cheeks as she sighed. Maybe her powers were acting up because she was homesick. If Elia didn't become a practical star for waking up in that fucking morgue after falling to her _literal_ death, she would never have left her home. Elia hadn't seen her flat or her friends in two whole years. Gary was gone. The last time she saw her best friend, Danni, she was powering through medical school and being her lively self. Of course, Danni had been upset by the news of Elia's...death. And seeing her alive was confusing. Some tears were shed. It made Elia's heart ache. Danni was the first person to learn that Elia had pretty much kicked it, considering she was the only number Elia cared to have in her phone. In reality, Danni was the only friend she had. At least, one who didn't completely ditch her when things got tougher. Danni had been her friend since they were kids and stood by her after Jeanné died; made sure she was never alone. Sure, they lost contact for a few years during university, but they never forgot about the other. Danni was paralysed when they were in their early twenties. As much as it rocked the woman, Elia was impressed by her resilience and determination, as Danni never slowed down. Elia was proud of her and had the chance to watch her power on through med school, wheelchair be damned. After her death, Elia realised she could help Danni; heal her. But by the time her death granted her those powers, Danni had been wheelchair-bound for four years and didn't see the need to go back to how she used to be. She was quite content with her new way of life and her progression and saw no need for change.  
" _It happened for a reason, Elia_." She had said, an optimistic and cheerful tone to her voice. " _I don't need, nor want, fixing. I manage pretty well. Thanks for offering, though. But I'm perfectly happy with who I am now_." So, Elia stepped back and acknowledged Danni's wishes, watching her friend blossom even further. Danni even helped her for when she left the city, waved her off at the airport. They hadn't spoken since then, which irritated the angel. Elia was homesick for Galway. For Danni and her steadfast company. She just wanted to go home. 

Humming to herself, Elia ran her fingers through her dishevelled hair, trying to think of other things than the people she missed. Maybe she should move onto the fact Dominik would be back in a few days. With the abrupt remembrance of that fact, Elia perked up slightly, eyes alight with a newfound sense of joy. Dominik was one of the most tactful and kind people Elia had managed to interact with in this bloody hellhole. That nurse respected Elia and vice versa. A psychic-medium, too, which made Elia feel a lot more relaxed. It meant she wasn't completely alone with her powers; even if hers were slightly different and stronger than Dominik's. And Dominik made sure the other patients were often treated properly; even if he was only a nurse, he had some status. People made sure to clean up their acts instead of being gobshites. Most of the doctors here were nought but useless tossers. Elia had learned that well. A few of them wouldn't be able to diagnose a fart if it flew up their bloody noses; _they could be heartless, impatient and cruel_. Every single time her magic flared up, every time she let them overpower the psychic blocks Dominik tried to implement and the doctors around her would watch her crumble into a blind panic, everything hitting her like a fucking train. She had no choice, no control. It forced her into other minds, forced her to see the torment other patients went through. Memories would flash through her mind, making her experience things she didn't want to fucking feel. And those bastards only made it worse. Using shock therapy would heighten that panic; _was that even legal anymore_? The doctor only made it fucking hurt more. Trying to give her a damn lobotomy didn't exactly aid her calming down. It didn't affect Elia the way the mean old bitch wanted it too. Of course, it didn't harm her in any way physically. Her dying fixed that problem. Elia could feel no pain; not a drop, at least...not anymore. Her dying sorted that human issue. All she did was remain silent, staring at the flaking paint of the ceiling, eyes devoid of any fucks to give.

A morbid thought, but Elia wondered what it felt like. From the emotions that slammed into her, the sounds that echoed through the hollow walls of the patients unlucky enough to go through it...it definitely wasn't pleasurable. It was tormenting to feel their suffering, to say the least. It was awful to hear them begging. It haunted her that they had to beg for mercy and know it was only being denied. Her white hair fell into her face as she bowed her head, the strands brushing against her skin. Sighing heavily, Elia chewed on her bottom lip. No time for that now. Feeling would only make it worse. 

*******

"Ah, there's my favourite patient." A voice greeted her ears, muffled ever so slightly by the closed doors of the chapel. So wrapped up in her thoughts, Elia hadn't heard anyone coming. Or _felt_ them for that matter. She wanted to allow herself to panic for a second. No one should have known she was here. Trying to settle her phantom heart, Elia realised that it had to be Dominik. He was the only person who knew where she would hide when things got stressful. If she wasn't found being cooped up in her room, hidden away from prying eyes, the chapel was his next best bet. Elia immediately straightened up and spun around on her heel, just in time to see a man pushing the door open. The man stood at a solid 5'11, wearing a loose-fitting grey t-shirt that had been lazily tucked into his pair of denim jeans. The lightning danced over him, making his rich bronze skin practically glow. Elia noticed a plain shopping bag. Peeking out over the plastic were some fresh, vibrant yellow flowers. Daffodils, Elia noticed. A small and gentle smile pulled at her features. Dominik loved his flowers and gardening. More often than not, the man would come into work and she was aware he'd spent his weekend pottering around his garden. The scent of plants and fresh dirt would linger on his skin, even if he'd showered before work. He'd smell sweet with the aroma of roses, bluebells, daffodils. She had spent enough time around Jeanné to be able to pick up on a flower just by the scent of it. 

Dominik seemed to catch her gaze and he chuckled.  
"I brought more flowers for you to raise." He remarked, seeing how he had managed to regain her waning attention. Elia let out a snort and folded her arms, eyes trained on his figure as he walked towards the window. The sunlight fell on the back of his shoulders as he bent down to place the bag on the floor. He pulled the wrapped flowers free and began placing them in the vase with the others.   
"Those plants aren't my children, Dominik." She said with a half-smile pasting its way across her lips. Another low chuckle rumbled through his chest and he threw her a look, his hazel eyes glistening with amusement. The rays of sunlight made the colour look warmer, giving Elia a better chance at looking at the flecks of green that were dotted around his irises; his eyes were _beautiful_.  
"You talk to them like they are." Elia scoffed, rolling her eyes. He was right; how did he know that? Did he catch her doing it? Even if he knew, she wasn't going to admit it to him.  
"I do not!"  
"You do too! I've seen it with my own eyes." The two playfully glared at each other before Dominik returned to the flowers and Elia stretched. 

A comfortable silence fell between the two and Elia watched Dominik return his attention to those daffodils he brought along with him, making space in the vase as he puckered his brow. His slender fingers fiddled with the stems, adjusting their positioning carefully. Elia closed her eyes briefly, zoning in on the exhaustion that had begun to pound through her magical system. Her magic was still straining. It would be for a little while longer, Elia knew that. A few more meditations and practising and she would have her magic fully under her control. But, for now? She could feel it. She could _feel_ it pulsing through her veins, itching to be released into the open. Due to the fact she had used it to resurrect the carnations, it was demanding to be freed again. Anywhere, it whispered. But, here? No; that wasn't an option and it was out of the question. A gentle noise dragged Elia out of her thoughts again and she blinked and saw Dominik leaning against the window ledge, smiling at her brightly.   
"You done prancing around your wonderland?" He asked, grinning and bending down to pick his bag up.  
"Shut it, you." Elia answered, pouting. He wandered over and clapped his hand on her shoulder, fingers light and tender. His grip was firm but careful and friendly.  
"I take it you're not working yet?" Elia questioned, fully checking him over. His attire wasn't exactly...professional. He was in off-duty clothing, his messy mop of chestnut hair still windswept and the curled ringlets dangled into his eyes. He beamed at her, squeezing her shoulder briefly before letting go and walking towards to door of the chapel.   
"I'll be back to work properly tomorrow," Dominik replied, pulling the door open and glancing at her, "I just came to do some paperwork and check in on your progress." A smile lit up her features and Dom gestured with his free hand, signalling for her to leave first. Nodding a quiet thanks, Elia slipped past him and stepped out in the hallway. She twirled around to face the nurse, watching as he pulled the door shut behind him.  
"Tell me all about your holiday. You did promise me details, after all." Dominik snorted and threw her a lazy half-smile, eyes twinkling.  
"That I did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again, for the slow update; but finally, chapter 2 is here! I hope you all like it. It was oddly a pain in the ass to write.   
> Leave a comment, if you wish
> 
> -Susanna x

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! You may have noticed this story was already on my account, and I deleted it not long ago. The reason why was due to the fact I hated what I'd written. Going back through it, as a 19-year-old, it seems incredibly childish (even though I was like 17 when I first started writing it). Elia needed more depth and character before I could continue. I spent the last six months of last year making a character sheet and going through EVERYTHING about her. It took a literal six months to complete, but it was worth it. I plotted the majority of the first novel and have spent most of this year re-writing what I have already done.
> 
> My writing style changed and I learned how to paragraph better (still not the greatest, but I'm still working on it). And I promised I wouldn't give up on this story, as I love the main character far too much. I've re-written the beginning and am currently editing the first chapter, as well. Taking my time with it, considering I hate rushing things. They don't look good then.
> 
> Now, I've finally settled with my writing style, I can continue writing what I want. And it's better off that way. I hope you like it, either way. It took a solid month and a half to fully write and edit it.


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